I’m going to be 38 years old soon. It’s a weird age for me. Not because it’s one year closer to 40 (or one year further away from 30!)…

It’s a weird age for me because a friend of mine passed away last year. She was 37. And I’m about to turn an age she’ll never make it to.

It seems wrong. Like I’m moving on.  Like I’m leaving her behind.  When I’m not ready to. I don’t want to.

my-38th-birthdayI still can’t fully understand the fact that she’s gone. I can’t comprehend that she won’t ever see another sunset or hear her favourite song on the radio or feel her dog snuggle into bed with her at night.

And I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she won’t ever be 38.


Time is unforgiving; it doesn’t slow down, it doesn’t speed up- it just marches forward at its consistent pace, whether you want it to or not.

So in a few days, I will turn 38.

And yet, my friend will not.


She will remain 37, but I will not leave her behind. I will carry her forward each year. She will be here when I turn 38. She’ll be here when I turn 40, 50 and every single other year.  She will always be with me.


So as I listen to people sing Happy 38th Birthday to me and I blow out the candles on my birthday cake, I will think of her.

Just as I do every day.