When I was a little girl, I believed in unicorns, happily ever after’s, and that every birthday wish came true. I can remember the cake being put right in front of my face, with one more candle from the year before. Each year I didn’t think I’d be able to blow them all out. Just as I took my big breath, my mom would always yell, “Don’t forget to make a wish!” I would close my eyes, think of wish, and then let out all the air to extinguish each and every candle’s flame. When I blew them all out, that had to mean my wish would come true and almost every time they did.

This year I’ll have to blow out twenty-three candles; it’s practically a fire hazard. Even if I do manage to blow all of them out, in one big breath, I’ll never be able to have my one, real wish come true. My mind will always go straight to wishing to the one person I can’t wish back: my son. No matter how much I wish for him to be in my arms, he won’t be there. It’s absolutely soul shattering  and so unfair that I’ll never have him back.

It breaks my heart to think of the little girl who didn’t believe anything wrong could happen. I honestly believed that my birthday wishes would come true every year. Grief and I had not met then. I am so jealous of the innocence I had on each birthday, even my last one. Last year, my biggest birthday wish came true; I found out I was pregnant. I wished for a beautiful, healthy baby with hair. It never crossed my mind that my baby, or any babies, could die. I thought I would celebrate with the best gift anyone could ever imagine, each year of my life.

Last years wish came true, just not in the way I’d imagined it would. I have my beautiful, blond hair boy in my heart forever. He may not be visible from the outside, but he’s always right there. No one can ever take my title of being Jensen’s mom away from me. Not even death. If I could go back and specify my wish, I would wish to have my beautiful, healthy baby with hair to be with me, on earth, for the rest of my life. Only a grief-filled mind could make someone feel guilty about not being specific about life during a birthday wish.

As much as I want to skip the whole day and completely shred the ideology of the innocence I once had, I would never want Jensen to believe he crushed my dreams and wishes. So, for him, I’ll get up on that Tuesday, celebrate the happiness and love he brought me during my twenty-second year, and I’ll blow out the candles like I know I’m supposed to do. Before my mom can even yell out to make a wish… I’ll wish that I’m able survive this next year and every year afterwards. I’ll wish for some kind of hope. I’ll wish that Jensen is happy and is swaddled with love. I’ll wish that he’s right there with me, cheering me on and on and on.