Today would have been your 57th birthday.  Happy Birthday wherever you are.  Truthfully, I forgot about it until this very moment.  I’m looking out the window at the strip in Las Vegas.  I can see the Bellagio, the Flamingo, the Mirage.  All places we walked past when we came here.  During the past three days, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about you and what we did when we came here.  I think about my first time at the MGM…I was awestruck at the size, the pageantry, the spectacle of Las Vegas.  You had been there before, of course, probably with Mary.  It was our first trip together.  Your first trip without Mary, probably. 

We spent your birthday at the MGM…at the Rainforest Cafe.  Remember?  We even ordered a chocolate cake dessert with sparklers on the top.  The dinner cost a fortune, and we tried to survive on minimal expenses for the rest of the trip, except when we went to the Phantom of the Opera together.  I think I paid for that.  The first of many such expenses on my tab.  I wasn’t resentful back then.

I had the same thought when I went on my 9.2 mile run Thursday morning.  I deliberately ran by our landmarks…wanting in some way to punish myself, prove myself, somehow both defy and embrace the memories.  I saw the cheap gift store where we bought you your rock revival knock off shirt.  You wore those so well and now, all those are probably worn by someone else who scored a bargain at the auction.  They paid fifty dollars for clothes I bought for you for hundreds…

I saw wedding chapels, and I remember that you quite honestly thought I was going to marry you when we came the last time.  (February, I think…Super Bowl weekend.). I saw the Peppermill Restaurant where the kitsch overwhelmed and amused us. I saw advertisements for Zumanity and remembered the erotic performance and our response to the older couples (certainly not us) who went as some kind of Vegas-inspired aphrodisiac for the aged.

I saw places where we took our pictures.  But I didn’t see you.  Not like in Nashville.  Your soul isn’t in Vegas.  Not even on the streets, by the water fountains, near the street performers, not anywhere.  It’s OK. I’m glad I had time away from your memories.  It’s bad enough that it’s your birthday today.  I think back to all the birthdays we spent together.  First at Toby Keith’s, then later in Las Vegas, with Ryan and Wendy, Jan and Al, when you drank so much.  It’s worth noting that I realized that your drunken side was truly scary.  I was glad Al and Jan stayed with us that night.  I wonder what would have happened had I been by myself.

The year before you died, we spent your birthday at a meat raffle.  I think you were disappointed that the bike group didn’t recognize your birthday in the way you hoped.   But you told me not to tell them.  You always claimed to dislike birthdays, but I think you secretly hoped those around you would override your stated disdain. You always liked an opportunity to be the center of attention.