Happy Birthday to Me

When Batman Smiles

Today is my birthday. And it is not a joyous occasion for me.

I remember being 19 years old, heavily pregnant, already two weeks overdue, wondering if this baby was ever going to be born. I used to think what an incredible birthday present it would be if he came. He took a couple more days, but from then on, our birthdays were forever entwined, for me.

It wasn’t my birthday and then his birthday. It was our birthdays. And I gave that up willingly, joyfully. Because he was the best birthday present I ever got.

After Adrian died, I told my family I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday anymore, and I hoped they would respect that. For the most part, they have. My mom still says she can’t help but celebrate this day — and I understand that from a mom’s perspective — but for me, this is not a good day. It’s one of the hardest of the year, honestly. Worse even than his thanoversary.

This year, I’m going to the California Redwoods, a place Adrian absolutely adored, for his birthday. I’m going to walk among the trees. I’m going to breathe in their earthy, ancient smell. And I’m going to think about him. I’ll think about the joy he gave me for 27 years. But there’s another side too, and it tends to show its face on my birthday, not his.

His birthday was, is, and always will be a joy to me. But I cannot say the same for mine.

Today is when the complicated side sneaks in. This is the day when I remember that scared, completely unprepared 19-year-old girl and ask her, “What were you doing? You weren’t ready to be a mother! You didn’t know enough. You weren’t equipped.” This is the day when my mind wanders into dangerous territory, imagining all the other parents he could have had. The ones who might have done it better, known more, offered stronger guidance. Maybe even saved him.

The years have softened that voice a little, but it still whispers sometimes. There’s still a faint shadow of it. And then, of course, there’s the other shadow-Adrian’s.

His addiction. His battles. His dual nature. The push and pull that lived inside him. The shadow side of my most precious birthday present. And I do what every grieving parent does on these kinds of days: I torture myself with the unanswerable.

Could I have changed it? Could I have fought harder? Could I have pulled him out if only I’d known the right words, the right moves, the secret combination that might have saved him?

He even had his double nature tattooed on his arm. Depending on how you looked at it, it read “Angel.” Flip it upside down, it said “Devil.” It was fitting. Because he was the most Gemini person you could ever meet. The highs were beautiful. The lows were brutal. And the addiction just made both sides more intense. Some days he was light. Some days he was shadow. And I never got to pick.

I don’t believe he ever got to pick. An endlessly flipping coin.

Adrian loved Batman, which was not something he grew out of, even as an adult. I understood it was because he saw himself in the whole dynamic. The contrast between Batman and Joker. That constant battle between who you want to be and what tries to pull you down into the darkness.

Batman was who he wanted to be. Strong, disciplined, fighting for those who could not fight for themselves. Carrying his pain but still trying to do something good with it. Joker represented the side of him that scared him. The side that laughed at the rules, that fell into the chaos, that could not be controlled. That tug-of-war lived in him every day. And he would even talk about it. He called the dark side A-town.

Fake friends and partying companions loved A-town. Everyone who loved Adrian did not.

The very last text he ever sent me was a picture of Batman and Joker together. I still look at it sometimes and wonder if he was trying to say something. Or maybe it was just one last reflection of that constant fight he lived with.

Every year, in the weeks leading up to his birthday, I do little things to get ready. It’s my way of preparing, just like I used to when he was alive. Back then it was balloons, cakes, gifts. Now it’s different. I plan a trip, or find some way to honor him. I call a bakery and pay for someone’s birthday cake in his name. I plant things in his memorial garden. And I get my nails done for him.

The signs started showing up on the way to get my nails done this year. Batman. A sticker on the back of a car window. Someone is wearing a Batman t-shirt. And the actual word “Batman” on something I passed. I take those as signs. So I got a Batman theme for my nails this year. And as I looked at the little hand-painted Batman mask, I thought, “Yeah. Adrian would be pleased with this.”

It made me smile.

I have a little morning ritual I try to do when it’s above 45 degrees. I go outside barefoot and sit in my favorite little spot. The moss is super soft and my toes dig into it while I sit and breathe. This is my time to try to reset myself, to set the intention for my day.

Now, I say this because I know some of you will picture it wrong; please do not imagine that I was out here in the first years after I lost my loved ones, sitting barefoot in the moss, peacefully meditating, and basking in the morning sun.

That could not be further from the truth. Back then, I was usually in a crumpled heap with dried salt on my face from crying and snotting all night, feeling around for the water bottle to take the edge off the hangover from all the wine I drank just to fall asleep.

But now, this is how I start my day. This is how I keep myself open… open to hearing from my loved ones, to hear from God, and to hear from my inner self.

I try very hard to be open to receiving whatever it is I might need to hear.

This morning, I was feeling the typical heaviness that comes with my birthday. And even though I wasn’t actively letting myself go into those old questions again, they were still there. Lurking. Sitting in the back of my mind like they always do on this day.

I looked down at my hands resting in my lap. My eyes landed on my nail, on the tiny hand-painted Batman mask. From this perspective, from this viewpoint, the design was flipped upside down. And from this angle, his face didn’t look serious anymore. His eyes looked smiling. He was positively goofy. It was a happy, derpy little Batman.

And it made me laugh.

I knew exactly what Adrian was trying to remind me. So much of how we experience life depends on the angle from which we’re looking. If we can shift it even a little - flip it upside down sometimes- we can see something different. Sometimes, we catch a little piece of truth that was there all along, but we couldn’t see it when we were staring straight into the pain.

Not every day allows for that. Some days are just shit. But today, I got a small flip. A small shift. And it is enough for today.

This post has been unusually personal, even for me. But I’m taking that liberty because it’s my birthday.

I want you to remember, my friends - you won’t always be staring straight into the pain. Shifts in perspective happen whether we seek them or not. But I’ll be honest. They do tend to come a little faster and a little easier when we’re willing to shift the angle ourselves.

If you’re in one of those heavy places right now, please don’t feel like you have to force anything. Some days are just heavy. But if you feel like you have a little room, even the smallest shift can help.

It doesn’t have to be anything big. You might sit outside without shoes, letting your feet feel the earth. You might take a short walk. You might listen to a song that reminds you of a good memory instead of a sad one. You might let yourself remember a time when you laughed together.

Small things. Gentle things.

Just hold on. Keep watching for the shifts.

And my birthday wish this year is for all of you … that you see them when they come, and that the perspective changes in exactly the way you need it to.