Diana had never celebrated her birthday; not the way the world of men did, with parties and candles and cake. At first, the tradition had confused her; life and love should be cherished every day, not just on a particular date. But over time, she had come to see the beauty of dedicating a day per year to honouring each of one's loved ones.
She never celebrated her birthday, but she celebrated theirs – Sameer and Charlie and Chief and Etta and her aunt and her mother and Steve. When she didn't know the date, she chose one at random, reasoning that they were all as good as each another. Every year like clockwork, no matter where she was or what she was doing, she stopped on those seven days to recall the people she had devoted them to. For Sameer, she went to the movies or the theatre and marvelled at how far the technology had come. For Charlie, she imbued the day with music, singing and playing the piano and exploring new genres. For her mother, who had taught her to be loving and kind, she donated time and money in her name. And for Steve, she spent the day doing the things that people did when there was no war before welcoming the night by listening to the song they had danced to that evening in Veld while eating ice cream and remembering the sound of his warm laughter. The celebrations were usually a bittersweet experience, but just as life had taught her that no human was fully good or fully evil, it had also shown her that it was normal for bitterness and sweetness to go hand-in-hand.
Her mourning was not limited to their birthdays, of course. It wasn't the only time she remembered those she had lost – far from it; they inspired her constantly, shaping her thoughts and actions and pushing her to do more, to be more. Nevertheless, those seven days gave her the chance to look back at her past with fondness rather than regret.
It was a gift, to them and to herself.