The number 13 itself never scared me, if anything I consider it my lucky number. My brother’s birthday is on a 13th and I’ve only ever associated positive memories with the number.
Today many were talking about Friday the 13th and it made me remember one of my brother’s birthdays growing up.
My mom was a single, working mom, but she always made a big deal of our birthdays. If there’s a single moment that I would define unconditional love with is when my brother turned 17/18 and I was 6/7. My brother got something really, really cool (I don’t remember what), but I cried.
I knew it was his birthday and he was the one to get presents that day, but I didn’t want to feel left out. I didn’t want to feel not special.
It took my mom a few minutes to realize that this was more than just a kid crying because she was spoiled. (I was the youngest so to some extent I probably was spoiled.) She didn’t care though. She went out and bought me a CD player.
I have no idea where that CD player is now, but that’s a memory I hold on to strongly. She was my hero. She made me feel special and loved, even when I was being a brat.
I don’t know how much buying me that CD player set my mom back financially, or if my brother was upset that he had to share his day. I’ll never know how she remembers that day, but for me, it’s the way I define love.
Moments are hard. You lose people, either because of life or death. Memories like those though, where you’re selfless and just nice, those stick around beyond you.
