Zero Birthday

My daughter Imogen and I are standing in front of the birthday candle display in the supermarket.

“Which ones would you like, Mum?”

I look at the boxes that each contain 12 candles, and I say, “We’d need a lot of those ones. And would they all fit on top of my cake? Let’s get the number candles instead.”

”Silver, gold or purple?”

”Purple.”

My fingers walk through the rack of glittery purple candles, searching for the right numbers for my age. And I think: Next year, I’ll need a zero candle. In 2021, I’ll be celebrating a significant birthday. Will that be good? I’m not sure. Leaving one decade and entering another isn’t always easy. We need time to find our feet. To accept that this is the place where we should be.

Why does the first number of our ages seem so important? Why would we rather be 29 instead of 30? Or 49 instead of 50? Numbers conjure up different images. They influence how we feel. Does our age make people look at us in different ways? I didn’t realise you’re old enough to be my mother.

When I was a younger mother, people often said, “You don’t look old enough to have all those children.” I’d grin as they added, “You look young for your age.”

Then when I turned 40, I knew no one was ever going to say those words to me again. But then I had an idea.

”What if I tell everyone I’m 67?” I said to my kids. “If I did that, people will say, “I never would have guessed your age. You look so young!”

I look at the purple candles in my hand and say, “59. That sounds old, doesn’t it?”

”No, it doesn’t!” protests Imogen.

I rearrange the numbers and hold them up for my daughter to see. “I could be 95 instead. What if I tell everyone it’s my 95th birthday?”

”Everyone will say, ‘Wow! You’re looking good for 95!’”

We laugh.

What does it matter how old I am? Why do I feel I have to look young for my age?

Imogen and I buy the two number candles. Later in the day, Sophie presses them into the top of the raspberry birthday cheesecake that she’s baked for me. Then my family gathers around and sings happy birthday.

When the joyful sounds die away, Charlotte asks, ”How does it feel to be 59, Mum?”

”It feels wonderful!”

And it does. I’m grateful for the last year of my life. Another year with my family. Another year where we have grown and loved and helped and encouraged and forgiven and enjoyed life with each other.

I look at Andy as he slices my cake into generous-sized portions. My love and I have been married for almost 37 years. Do I want to wish some of those years away just so I can be younger? How would I choose the ones to do without? Even the difficult times were good. They were necessary. They were the years when we learnt the most about love.

And what about our children? If I wasn’t 59, my beautiful teenagers and young adults wouldn’t be who they are today. Every minute of those years brought us to this perfect moment. If some of the minutes were missing, I’d be somewhere else. And I want to be right here.

This is me. This is my family. This is my life.

”You won’t be able to use the number 5 candle next year, Mum,” observes Gemma-Rose. My youngest daughter is right.

In 2021, I’ll need two new candles to celebrate a very rare and special event. It’s one we get to experience only once every ten years: a zero birthday.

But today, I’m thankful and grateful. I’m celebrating. I’m glad that the numbers 5 and 9 are mine.

Photo by Angèle Kamp on Unsplash