What I want to remember from this chapter

That’s a random sampling from one of those “get through your grief” books that I bought a year and a half ago.  I’ve never read any of them though.  In fact, just their very existence in my office at this point pisses me off.  So why don’t I throw them away?

Why did I think that I could have a birthday where all would be fine and dandy?  I didn’t, really.  I just chose not to think about the stupid day.  For a couple of weeks beforehand, though, I was pretty itchy.  And though I spent the day with you, the lonliness of pretending you were actually there made it worse than if I’d had to, say, spend 12 hours straight feeding federal inmates creamed chipped beef on toast.  You only answer in my head, and it’s pretty crowded in there with useless shit like the color of your hair in college and that name of that band that played that song. 

So what do I want to remember from this chapter?  (It was followed by a blank space so you could, ostensibly, make notes.  Notes on your grief.  Notes on your sadness.  Notes so that you could remember … because, what, you might forget?  Blessed Alzheimers.)  It is not getting any better.  All I will remember, whether I want to or not (and I most decidedly do not) is that my birthdays will continue to suck without you and that is a fact upon which I can count.