Countdown to the Holiday

It's June 12th. I woke up this morning before I was fully awake and checked my cell phone. I had been dreaming about Emily and it was so real I almost believed I'd see the text message that should have been there: "One month 'til my birthday!"

It wasn't.

And it sucks.

Emily loved her birthday. She'd never really admit it, but I think she loved it even more than Christmas. Because it was all about her. Emily's birthday is July 12th. On July 13th, she started counting down to her next birthday. Throughout the year, she'd say... "8 months and 22 days until my birthday". Then is was.. "6 months and three weeks until my birthday!" Then it was.. "four months, two weeks, and 3 days until my birthday". By the time she passed the one month milestone, she was counting hours. We never said it to her face, but we always called it the National Holiday. And it irritated the snot out of me. She'd call me at work to announce how many more days until the Big Day. She was so funny, about two months away, she'd start asking what I'd gotten her for her birthday. And I always would say nothing. Over and over we played this little game. I always waited until the last minute, partly because that's just who I am, and partly because she was a horrible snoop. The last couple years I'd taken to hiding her presents in my car, because that's the one place she could not get into.

And as irritating as it could be... I miss it! I never thought I would, but I do. I miss being exasperated with her. Especially this one, the big 21. She insisted that I was going to be the one to take her for her first legal drink. Just me. Not one of her friends, not her sorority sisters, not anyone... just boring old me. She changed her mind at least 20 times about what the first drink was going to be. I don't think I ever told her how much that meant to me that of all the people who gladly would have gone with her, she wanted to go with me.

And now she's not here. We're talking about having a party on her birthday. At first I balked... it seemed kind of morbid. But over the last two months, the more I've thought about it, the more appropriate it seems. Emily loved parties. Emily loved alcohol. Emily loved her birthday. And if she knew that we were spending her day moping around crying- she'd have a gigantic hissy fit. There was never to be any crying on her day. So we'll laugh. (And we'll cry.) We'll remember Emily, and probably tell all kinds of embarrassing stories about her. (She always pretended to be mad, but I know she secretly liked hearing them retold.) We'll probably drink more than we should. And we'll make it through what is probably going to be the worst of the many Firsts without her.

So here's to the start of the countdown to the National Holiday.

Here's to you Emily.
I miss you, you little twerp.