Birthday Cake

Last week, my friends gathered at my house to have some cake for Roger's birthday.

We did not celebrate on his actual birthday.

I did it a couple days before since I was in the Bahamas on his actual birthday.

But for all the guilt I was/am still having for forgetting to make him a cake last year, I had cake for him this year.

His 35th birthday.

My wedding photographer and friend, Scoobie, helped me make a slideshow on DVD of the zillion candid shots I have of Roger over our three years together.

It was beautiful and I will keep it along with all the other slideshows Scoobie has made for us/me.

Mr. X and I prepared some finger foods.

[Mr. X was so great at helping me at something for Roger. So great at keeping me on track. So great at distracting me. So great at helping me host a party for my dead husband.]

Courtney made an amazing birthday cake.

With layers. Roger loved layered cakes.

My other amazing friends brought over some more food.

It was nice.

I was doing well.

At least for the most part.

At least on the surface.

Until...

Courtney started to cut the cake.

His cake.

His layers.

The tears started to fall.

He was suppose to be here.

Celebrating with our friends.

I sat and watched as each slice was cut and then delivered to my friends.

I sat in a chair alone.

I know no one knew what to do.

Mr. X was not sure of his appropriate place.

But I was so lonely in that moment.

So very alone.

I watched as piece after piece was handed out.

Until there was only one.

One very lonely piece left.

Roger's piece.

Thankfully someone (Courtney, I think) moved it.

Out of my sight at least.

After everyone left, I started to break down.

I crawled into bed and just cried.

It was over.

First big day anyway.

My body was so heavy.

Mr. X let me cry.

Held me and just let me cry.