We were supposed to be in Paris this week.
Or Venice.
We never had the chance to choose. The boyfriend turns 40 this week, and back on his 35th I promised him a grand excursion to mark this milestone. I love him and back then it was within our means.
And then the bottom dropped out of our lives and it became just another dream deferred.
I feel completely awful about it, that I can't give him the celebration he deserves. He's putting on a brave face, he knows the score. But I know deep down he's more than a little crushed.
But all is not lost. With the help of some very dear and generous friends, we're still planning an event for this weekend. What it lacks in spectacle it will more than make up for with love from everyone. I hope.
And thankfully, it won't be here.
The only thing worse than turning 40 is turning 40 in Bakersfield.
