The following day, on Thursday, April 19th, I had officially lived through a quarter century. I feel hesitant to mention it now, even moreso then. In fact, it was on that day that every media source we turned to first started claiming that Julia had not endured a hiking accident, but had been murdered. That was news to us. Horrible news. And on that day, it was quite clearly not an appropriate time for me to have a birthday. But have it I did, and Ross and Tim (fellow volunteers from my area) even made a special effort to see that I enjoyed it. They're good friends.
Grief is a funny thing. Even the worst grief comes in spurts, and occasionally subsides, leaving even the deepest mourner a little numb but often able to experience and enjoy life (something which many will feel guilty about later). As I mentioned before, I wasn't a deep mourner. I was effected by the situation, and certainly by the atmosphere of grief and shock, but I still enjoyed the day.
We went to starbucks. I had a iced triple grande mint mocha. It cost a small fortune in pesos, which Ross covered. I watched a movie, "300". That night, we had a few beers and played Scrabble. Things were ok. I had all these plans for my birthday, which all went out the window. But things were ok. I didn't discover it that day, but waiting on the internet for me was the sweetest surprise I've received by email: a video of my young cousin Bea singing happy birthday to me.
In the days that followed, in small groups and with different people, with Marianne, and Anna, and Erin, I got different parts of my plans in. It was a successful, if sobering revolution around the sun.