Today, windy and cold and rainy, is my precious ex-boy’s birthday. When I awoke this morning, in fact, I knew this, but I resisted sending him anything. Even when my best friend reminded me of the special day. At around seven o’clock while I was knee-deep in pretending to write my composition paper he texted me to announce that it was in fact his eighteenth birthday. To which I gave him a “Happy Birthday” and a short phone call to hear the details. Most of the time with him I feel like a mother, one who’s child has gone off... Continue reading