I can’t believe it’s been four months since my grandmother died. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s been that long and I’m still surviving. But I am.

I started to get sad early this morning, around 3:30 AM, when I realized what today was. As the day continued, I alternated between being sad and angry.

It still doesn’t seem real to me that my grandmother’s gone. That is until I look at the program from her funeral on top of my jewelry box. That’s when the tears want to come. Sometimes I let them, sometimes I don’t.

I’m turning 35 in a little over two months and it fills me with anxiety and terror. I know it’s going to be a rough birthday because it’s my first birthday without my grandmother. But also, I’m terrified to be 35.

35 is some real shit. 35 is advanced maternal age (which I know is mostly bullshit but still).

35 is when you’re supposed to have your shit together. And for the most part I do but it could be more together. So I’m giving myself these next two months to “play around,” then it’s time to get serious.

I want to be intentional about wealth-building and transitioning into a career in entertainment. That means writing every. day. Which I know is going to be really difficult because I’m already supposed to be doing that and I don’t. But I’ve got to keep these promises to myself. I’ve got to.

But most importantly, given all of the young lives we lost in Las Vegas, I’ve realized that if I do make it to 35, that is truly a blessing. Which is so sad to say, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

So on that day, I’ll be celebrating my birthday for myself and everyone who’s no longer here to celebrate. Including my grandmother.