March 8th, 2026 I turned 51.

Happy birthday to me 🥳

That word… happy. Its meaning has changed so much for me. It takes real effort for me to say it these days, because very few things feel worthy of that word. Everything is tainted by the shadow of grief. I stop and think: Do I really mean it? I can’t fake it anymore. I can’t say it just because it’s part of a trite phrase.

Death has robbed me. Robbed our family of so much.

Pretty soon after my husband died, I sat down with our kids and declared war:
“Daddy’s death has already taken so much from us. I refuse to let it rob us of one more second of living our lives,” I said, probably with that determined Latin fire my husband loved, and most definitely with 110% of the rage and anger that had taken over my soul.

It was a battle cry.

A defiant F*%$ YOU to the unfairness of life.

A radical declaration of hope.

So much of this journey is a choice. So much of life is a choice.

For me, choosing joy is not a decision I make once and I’m done. It’s a choice I have to make over and over again. Every day. Several times a day. And sometimes I don’t choose it. But I know that I could, if I wanted to.

It’s exhausting, but when possible, definitely worth it.

I love parties. Fiestas. I love turning anything into a celebration.
Got your mammogram? Let’s party! Is it your bunny’s birthday? Sounds like a fiesta to me!
You finally figured out the sleepless nights, body aches, and mood swings were not a demon possessing your soul but just a little gift from peri/menopause? I’m coming over with wine 🍷and chocolate 🍫.

Is it Fiesta time?

My first birthday after he died, it had been four months. I was a walking, semi-functioning shell of a human parent. I can’t even remember exactly how it happened, but a group of friends showed up at our house with a huge screen, microphones, and a karaoke machine. There was food, music, laughter, and singing🎤. Just what our house had been for so many years before. Little signs of life and joy were starting to peek through the cracks.

I also started giving myself birthday gifts. That year I went on Groupon and got a bunch of massages, facials, and a 10-session salsa class.

Happy Birthday to me 🎉

Last year, deciding what to do for my 50th birthday was like giving birth. I had envisioned such a different celebration. One my baby would plan and probably go overboard for. One where I would just answer questions like: What kind of food do you want? What theme? What vibe are we going for? One where my only concern would be what to wear or how to do my hair and makeup. One where my husband would be loving me, hugging me, kissing me, dancing with me.

One where my husband would be alive.

Our daughter kept asking me to celebrate. “You only turn 50 once, Mami”, she kept saying.
“Ok”, I reluctantly accepted and started working on pumping myself up for it. I had no idea what to do.

My best friend Debbie came from New Mexico, and my girlfriends here got together and surprised me with a Fiftieth Fiesta Celebration. We had delicious Cuban food, drinks galore, music 🎶, karaoke, lots of joy, laughter, and plain old noise 🎵.

For gifts, I got myself functional fitness classes, pickleball lessons, and laser hair removal.

Feliz Cumpleaños a mí 💃🏽

It’s my life, is now or never!

This year I decided my birthday celebration would last all weekend.

On Friday night I went with my bestie Andrea to see a local band. Had drinks afterward and flirted with the bartender, such a huge step for me! “You still got it, girl”, I told myself 😏.

Saturday I made crepes and had brunch with the kids. After, I went on a long solo hike because I wanted to and the weather was finally glorious. At night we went out to dinner.

On Sunday, my actual birthday, we went to church. I took our daughter to gymnastics practice. Watched some TV. Later in the evening we went with my brother’s family to Beat the Bomb, an immersive high-tech team game where players solve puzzles, dodge lasers, and wear hazmat suits because if they fail they get blasted with six gallons of paint.

Spoiler alert: we failed!

And we had a blast! Pun intended.
Happy Birthday to me 💣.

For gifts this year, after visiting a few yoga places, I found a studio I really like. Weirdly enough, it already feels like home, even though I know no one. So I signed up 🧘🏻‍♀️. A deferred gift might be hair extensions. I’m still deciding if I have the money, time, energy, and patience to maintain them. Feel free to weigh in. And I’m going to get myself a new pair of running shoes because, yes, I still have faith 🙏🏽.

Happy Birthday to me 🥂

Another gift? I am forcing myself to find regalos 🎁 hidden in this giant pile of caca 💩 that sometimes feels impossible to crawl out of.

I leave you this week with the words of the great poet, philosopher, and writer of our time, Jon Bon Jovi 😆, and what has now become my anthem:

“This ain’t a song for the broken-hearted – except it is, in my case.
No silent prayer for the faith-departed – and again, it is, in this case.
I ain’t gonna be just a face in the crowd
You’re gonna hear my voice
When I shout it out loud                                                                                                                                                   It’s my life                                                                                                                                                                        It’s now or never                                                                                                                                                                  I ain’t gonna live forever                                                                                                                                                       I just want to live while I’m alive”

I JUST WANT TO LIVE WHILE I’M ALIVE.

@Jon Bon Jovi, if you’re reading this… because, honestly, why wouldn’t you? 😜 I love you. Like in a rockstar kind of way. Please go on tour so I can come to one of your concerts and scream my grief out!!!. Pleeeeeaaaseee!!! 🎸