Sharon sat in her therapist's chair, not for the first time. But this was the first time she didn't really want to talk.
"Sharon, tell me about a birthday," Dr. Thompson asked.
"Dr. Thompson, I really don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"I never really had any good birthdays. They were often just like every other day."
"Tell me about this."
"There's nothing to tell."
"Did you go to birthday parties with friends?"
"Sometimes."
"How did you feel about what you saw with others and what you felt on your birthday?"
"How do you think I felt? I was a kid. I wanted what they had."
"Looking back on it now, what are your thoughts?"
"I understand days like that and Christmas were tough in my family. My mom didn't have much money and there always seemed to be something else. I get that it was not easy. An, at the same time, I wonder why there wasn't more basic joy."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, birthdays don't have to be about gifts. But if a gift isn't possible, I think the day should still be about the person. Somehow show them you care about them, let them know they are important to you. And that, none of that, did I experience."
"What are you saying? That you didn't feel loved?"
"In a way, I guess. Mom was always out, working and whatever. She was often never home on my birthday, and sometimes brought something that seemed to be a last minute thought. When I got older, a friend often made me a birthday cake. I realized that I never got a birthday cake ... except," Sharon got lost in thought, "except for that birthday when I had two friends over. That year mom got me a cake."
She paused. Her therapist remained quiet.
"I think mom made it. Maybe not. Maybe Crystal's mom brought it." A faint recollection tickled the edges of Sharon's memory.
Sharon looked up and looked in Dr. Thompson's eyes, flooding with tears. Her shoulders slumped over and clutched her hands in her lap. "Not even then ... not even then did mom bring me a cake."
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