“I just realized something yesterday,” he told me. “I’m probably going to be in here for my birthday.”
Around this time last year, we had a very similar conversation. Yet another hearing had been postponed, this time rescheduled to a date shortly before his birthday. We had been laying in bed, I was the big spoon, and it was one of those times when I could feel the emotion rolling off of him. Eventually, he broke down and told me what he was thinking. I’m going to be in jail at my birthday, and I deserve that, because I don’t deserve anything good.
In the end, he wasn’t locked up for his birthday last year. We had a good birthday, and planted a tree in the yard. For our anniversary, a few months later, we went out for an awesome dinner. He was done with all the legal things by Thanksgiving, and doing the holiday on our own was really great. Last Christmas together was the total opposite of the previous year. In 2018, everything was way to fresh, and we didn’t know what was going to happen at all. We didn’t exchange gifts, we watched White Christmas while I put on makeup, then I spent an awkward holiday with my family. Last year, we did presents, and dinner together, and watched White Christmas together on the couch.
Together.
Unfortunately, the truth is unless things change drastically in the next few weeks, he probably will be in there for his birthday. At the very least, we won’t be together to celebrate it. I can hope to be on the road by August, and maybe we’ll have an anniversary together.
This morning, I realized Easter is this weekend. While we’re not religious by any stretch, we enjoyed the tradition of having a slightly fancier meal together for Easter dinner. Quarantine wouldn’t have changed much for us. But this year’s gonna fucking suck. I can’t even go be with the family that does like me.
