I cried...a lot.
I wanted to cry more.
I was angry.
I was laughed at.
I did a kick ass job doing double winged eyeliner and there is no evidence of it.
I washed it off my face with disgust and watched the black, swirly water wash down the drain with the rest of the day. When I lifted my face from the towel and looked back at myself in the mirror, I felt relieved. It was over. The Facebook posts, comments, and messages finally stopped and I could breathe again.
He played "Happy Birthday" on the dobro, slow and broken, and it was the best I felt all day.
They can't all be happy birthdays.
And I'm okay with that too.