On the Occasion of my 51st Birthday

On the morning I turned 51

I woke and turned to see the sun

The sound of geese honking was one of the first things I heard

As I closed my eyes again and quietly said, "thank you."

I have been surprisingly emotional as this birthday crept up on me. And I realize that it's probably strange to say "surprisingly" but here we are. 

Here's the thing -- even in the darkest depths of the valley I faced in the past year, I never once actually doubted that I would survive. I just didn't know exactly what surviving was going to look like. (And of course, I often worried that really I was just being naive to the realities I was facing.)

I remember writing at the time (and telling some people) that one of the reasons I was so confident that this was not yet the end of my story was that my dad never sent me any signs. There were no dream visits, or anything that I could in any way interpret as a message that he would be seeing me soon. There were a couple of metaphorical things that happened that told me he was close, but keeping his distance so as not to spook me. And it gave me a lot of comfort and the fortitude I needed to keep going. Some people thought I was saying that my dad had abandoned me, but it was quite the opposite: my dad was letting me know that I could have the audacity to hope. Maybe I would have had it without that -- maybe it's just in my DNA. 

Recently I did have a dream about my dad. I don't remember the details and it wasn't what I'd consider a "visit" dream -- I just remember waking up and feeling happy and also content because it feels as though the storm has passed and it's once again safe for him to make himself known in small ways around me. The first time I woke up this morning was almost the exact time I was born 51 years ago (my mom used to call me at that time back when I was in high school) and then the second time, I heard the geese. 

Yesterday, I heard "Landslide" (Dixie Chicks version, which is arguably the second best version that exists) on my drive home and that set off a good, cathartic cry like I haven't had in a long, long time. I've come to realize that the older I get, the less I miss my dad on the "big days," and the more I miss him on the days like today. I've now lived 1/4 of my life without him. 

But this post/therapy session isn't really even meant to be about my dad - because really what's been heavy on my heart in the weeks leading up to this very significant birthday (arguably this is way more of a milestone birthday than 50 was) is just how very, very lucky I am to still be here. Period.

Life is so, so fragile. For all of us, regardless of any other circumstances we may be facing.

Just in the past few weeks, our community has experienced several devastating losses -- two I can think of off the top of my head were people younger than me, not sick. One was a tragic accident that rocked most of the people living here and the other, a sudden and unexpected loss that touched so many in my circles. The older I get, the less distant any of this feels.

We went to Kouri's the other night after Ainsley's volleyball game for a late dinner and the place was mostly empty except for a table near us. The women were talking quietly amongst themselves about someone they know who has been diagnosed with cancer. They weren't being rude or disrespectful in any way, I want to make that clear. And they were talking quietly, I just happen to have supersonic hearing sometimes so I was able to pick up on a lot of the conversation. And suddenly it dawned on me that a lot of people probably were having that exact same kind of conversation about me just a few months ago. It felt unnerving, and also somehow reassuring. 

I've also been thinking a lot lately about the nitty gritty details of my surgery. Wondering what it looked like as they did the actual physical things required for a procedure like that, wondering what I looked like lying there on the operating table. Maybe one day I'll look for a video of a craniotomy but I'm not there just yet. :)

As we inch closer and closer to the 1-year mark, it's just so reminiscent of how I felt when we reached the 1-year anniversary of my dad's ordeal. (His heart attack was Nov. 1, my diagnosis was Nov. 5. We both had major surgery within a day of each other on the calendar.) Just like in 2009, the changing of the seasons has me (and, apparently, my sister...) experiencing things on a physical level that are hard to explain, like our bodies somehow just internalized the trauma. Just like in 2009, I'm starting to feel myself getting anxious to just get these dates over with and behind me. Just like in 2009, there is this feeling that if I just deep-clean and rearrange my house, things will somehow be ok. (I painted our garage doors and have been obsessively adding to the fall decorations on my front porch. My sister is painting almost every surface of her kitchen. The genetics are deep here!)

But maybe this sense of cleansing that I'm feeling is just going to be a new way of life from now on, one of the many ways I have been so forever changed by all that has happened.

I can't say I *love* knowing that I am now 51. But my dad used to say, "growing older beats the alternative" and today, I celebrate growing another year older with a new appreciation and sense of gratitude.