Allow me some superficial whining for a moment... Not only is today tainted but my birthday will never be the same. I'll always know the next day is when my husband died.

I noticed that, Maria. I'm so sorry. I have death anniversaries tied to my birthday, too. I think this is supposed to be where I tell you it gets better. And maybe it does, but basically, every year I hold my breath until my birthday passes.

I was trying to write something, but basically, what Windsparrow said. I'm sorry about the awful timing, Maria. No part of this is fair.

Maria, come 2013, if you aren't somewhere awesome, please let me have you here. We'll incorporate you into my my neighbor tri-some of bdays, which we're doing tomorrow.

As a back-up plan, let me offer up Tom Scola's get-out-of-bad-anniversaries option of heading to various West Coast Buffista locales and letting the localistas love you up but good. Either coast will do, really; I just happen to be partial to the one I'm on (plus, you truly must come to San Francisco at some point; all the elderly Italian expats of North Beach will want to adopt you and pet your hair and feed you delicious things until you burst at the seams, in a deeply good way).

eta: Not to be flippant at all -- but sometimes just being away from the place where the grief happens helps, and don't ever forget that you have multiple continents of loving hearts.

Or perhaps you'd like to come to Atlanta and have a small dog distract you by nipping your ankles.

Or perhaps you'd like to come to Atlanta and have a small dog distract you by nipping your ankles.

He's very sweet once he accepts that you're not there to murder Ginger.

Whatever makes her happiest!

I'm never going to be a mom either. Rob would have been an awesome dad.

(Excepting murdering Ginger.)

Oh hon. I'm sure he would have been.

Rob would have been an awesome dad.

How many years did he coach hockey? Not the same as parenting but a lot of kids are better for him having been in their lives.