45

Today is Liz's birthday. She's 45.

I met her when she was 28 and have loved her everyday since then. I remember how her birthday was such a big deal for me ... us. I'd wake up in the morning and run to the place where I hid her cards (one from me, one from the animals) and present. The cat, dog and me would lay next to her in bed while she opened everything.

On our 10th year of celebrating her day of birth, I drained my savings account and bought her a diamond cross. One year, I wrote her deceased mother a letter thanking her for raising such a tender, wonderful woman. Last year, I took her to a gourmet Mexican restaurant for a six-course meal and fine bottle of wine. Then we went to Bass Hall for a concert.

It was a lovely evening ... the first birthday I spent with her since we broke up four years ago. A night filled with hope and encouragement.

This is the first birthday since I've known her that I will not give her a card.
Or a present.
Or a phone call.

Happy birthday, Liz. You still have so much of my heart, even if you don't know it.