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Today is Roger’s birthday. 

The date of my husband’s birth. 
I cannot help but remember and think of him.

[And be slightly weepy.]

His love of layered birthday cakes.

His learning to surf on his thirty-third birthday.

And all the tiny and large details that made me love him tremendously. 

And the details that made me want to celebrate the day he came into the world.

When I first met Roger (on match.com), he was thirty-one. 

One year past my age preference.

I was forty-eight hours away from twenty-five.

As I have written before, the year Roger died I could not believe he was turning thirty-four. 

Thirty-four!

He took the day off of work. 

Cut his shaggy hair a bit and relaxed.

I had to work unfortunately.

If only I would have known. 

If only…

On this date this year, he would be turning thirty-six. 

Six years older than me. 

It seems impossible.

Of course it is impossible.

He will never be thirty-six in reality.

His traditional defined life stopped twenty-one days after turning thirty-four. 

I wonder what we would be doing on this birthday.

Cake? Yes of course.

Both of us taking the day off? Hopefully.

A trip?  Perhaps.

Dinner with friends? I hope so.

Dinner with family? At least at some point.

But alas none of these things. 

Happy Birthday, Roger!

I miss you more than words can even start to describe.

I adore you.

Part of my heart still belongs to you today and always.