The annual day of dread has come and gone and you know what? It was good. Not that I haven’t had good birthdays but there’s been a pall over them for many years that didn’t dare show its face this year.

First and foremost, how lucky am I to have so many awesome people in my life? Terribly. I got an overwhelming number of birthday wishes yesterday, including my favorite: I got my annual call from Granny Berry, singing “Happy Birthday” to me. I’ve had unexpected goodies arriving on my doorstep daily for a week – earrings, bracelets, books, music DVDs, CDs, framed photos of some of my favorite moments from the past few months, yarn, City Museum passes, illicit concert files … I know I’m forgetting stuff. I’m flabbergasted that right now especially, people are spending their money on me when they really don’t have to. I know it sounds hokey but dammit, I’m touched. Whether it was material goodies, emailed videos, or just an email or Facebook message wishing me a happy day, it meant a lot.

I gave myself the best gift I’ve ever given myself: I met my 50-page writing goal. That’s six chapters of a novel, written in about six weeks. I remember being disappointed with myself on my thirtieth birthday because I hadn’t met my goal of having a book published by age 30. I dealt with my disappointed, and I’ve done a lot of stuff in the six years since. And now I’m back to that same old goal that’s been with me most of my life. I’m lucky that I made friends with my writing pal Maggie a few months ago. Not just because she has the best concert stories of anyone I know, but because she’s an English professor and she has kicked my ass to do this, helped me feel like I can do it.

Speaking of concerts … I went to one last night. My dad bitched at me a bit for not spending my birthday with my spouse and daughter. I didn’t have much choice, as they were throwing me out the door. A few weeks ago I heard that Old Crow Medicine Show was going to be in town on my birthday. Brian and I talked about going, but that whole adulthood thing got in the way, with him having to work the next day and it not being wise to bring Clara Jane home from a babysitter at midnight on a school night.

Last Wednesday I deleted the show from my calender. A few hours later I was on the phone with KDHX, winning a pair of tickets to the show. Brian told me to go, he didn’t mind staying home with Clara Jane. Courtney offered to join me and. I mean, how can I miss a free opportunity to hear some live bluegrass singalong about sex and cocaine, on my birthday no less? Mama rocked like the wind and the rain, she did! Seeing crowd-surfing at a bluegrass show while drinking bottles of Schlafly Pale Ale in the good company of another music geek girl? That’s a good way to usher in another year in my world.

While I was gone, my minions were home, creating this:

Clara Jane told Brian I needed a “chocolate rainbow cake” for my birthay. And who doesn’t? The world would be a better place if we all had chocolate rainbow cake. Do I sense the birth of a new family birthday tradition? I think so! We didn’t cut the cake until tonight, once the whole family was finally home at the same time.

After I blew out the candles (in one breath!) Clara Jane asked me what I wished. No, I’m not telling you because I want them to come true, but I did whisper them in her ear. Then, this sweet child, the same one who spent an hour arguing with me this afternoon about whether or not she required pants and underpants, said, “I wished that I’ll always be yours.”

Best birthday gift ever.

I got another great gift this year. As a lot of your might know, I have a long history of bad birthdays. I’m not talking about bad weather or the wrong flavor of cake; I’m talking about death, car wrecks, fights, and such. The worst being my 19th birthday in 1991. Six weeks after I left for college, my grandmother died on October 21. She’d been ill for a long time and there was some peace in knowing she wasn’t suffering. Still, no one wants to bury a loved one. To say I’ve had a hard time letting that go … understatement. The best I managed to this point was accepting that having our birthdates and death dates back-to-back would guarantee that I’d have her with me at the time when I’m supposed to be celebrating my life.

For years, October 21 meant my mind was on her. Thoughts, conversations, even written letters. If I could get her death out of the way on the 21st, there was a chance I might not spend my birthday dwelling on loss. Some years it worked, some years it didn’t.

On Tuesday, I didn’t realize it was the anniversary of her death until I was on my way to bed. For a second I was overcome with guilt. For a second. Then I realized what had happened: I’d come to terms. She’s been gone for as long as I knew her, although she’s not gone. She’s hanging around and it’s all worked out. Knowing that, with this birthday I was able to let go and enjoy my life. Enjoy the people who choose to be a part of it, and the ones who’ve happened into it. The ones who were absent didn’t matter so much. Some were missed. Many weren’t. For once I was able to not do a headcount and just be thrilled and grateful for what I have, not what I don’t.

Not a bad way to start running towards 40.