September was always the month for birthdays in my family. The list is quite long. Dad, Mom, and both of my brothers. There are quite a few in the extended family as well. I’m a guy, and so am terrible at remembering dates. Birthdays top that list.

I looked at the calendar this morning and it is the 26th. Then my memories page on Facebook reminded me it would be my oldest brother’s birthday, if he were still with us. He would be 79 today. That’s when I thought I only have one September birthday left in my immediate family.

That would be brother Dan, but for reasons I don’t know he hasn’t stayed in touch. I couldn’t even send him a card this year. September has become a lonely month. A month that used to be filled with celebrations, even when I didn’t remember which ones.

The truth is, as a family we didn’t celebrate birthdays all that much. Mom baked a cake and we had ice cream. No parties like you see on television, nothing like that. I don’t recall any balloons, streamers or party favors. My sister did give me an official birthday party when I turned 16 but the party was in July because, I was born in July.

Today I extend birthday greetings on Facebook. I get a notification about that on the right-hand side of my page. Learned again yesterday that at least one of my cousins was born in September. I say again because I do have to learn the date every year, I seldom remember what day whose was.

Now I find September to be a bit empty. It reminds me of the past and those that I shared that past with. There birthday was; what a sad sentence to say. It’s saying they have died without saying that. But they aren’t what was, they remain with me.

In years past we celebrated their life. We called it a party, celebrating the day they were born. Today when we hear about a celebration of life, we think funeral. It’s a strange concept to me. I’m not celebrating, I’m mourning. You celebrate a birth and mourn a death. That’s how I feel about that.