My Thirteenth Birthday

It’s my thirteenth birthday.
Today.
I hadn’t even realized it
until my sister yelled it in my face.
It’s funny how such an important date
can become so trivial during this time.
But I suppose I should make the best of it,
it’s the small things that matter after all.

I remember waking up wide-eyed
and getting ready for a party or trip to Disney.
But I wake up now,
groggy and slow,
unhurried, mumbling as I flip through my clothes.
I couldn’t find any that I wanted to wear
so I wore my pajamas to the living room,
throwing a “good morning” over to my parents and sister.

I remember the gifts that poured in from friends and family
each one carefully wrapped
with hand-written cards attached to the present.
But I open the door now,
to find Amazon boxes stacked high in the doorway.
I drag them in, one by one.

I remember eagerly tearing at the wrapping paper,
feeling gratitude for all the care my friends had put in
to choose my birthday present and to wrap it up.
But now I open Amazon boxes,
and set them aside in the sun to let them warm up
and lower the risk of my family getting corona.

I remember reading the birthday cards over and over,
and then carefully setting them aside in a drawer.
But now I fold the Amazon boxes back together
and throw them in the recycling bin.

What do you think I’m doing?
Complaining, right?
No, I am grateful.
Grateful that my friends had bothered
to remember my birthday in the midst of a pandemic.
Grateful that they remembered
the address I sent them over two years ago.
Grateful that my parents baked a cake for us to enjoy.
Grateful that my friends all sent me text messages,
wishing me a happy birthday.

Thank you, all of you.
You are what makes my birthday happy.