Happy Birthday to Me!

Today marks 50 years that I have been on this planet.

My father sent me these flowers, although the picture does not do them justice.

It's a funny thing but in the weeks before I turned 50 years old today, I had a series of things happen:

1) I got laid off from my job for two months, and actually am still waiting to hear if I will be hired back in October.

2) I got really sick about a week ago and am just now getting over acute sinusitis and bronchitis.

3) I re-injured by back and have been hobbling around or lying around in the house going stir-crazy with a child who is bored beyond imagination.

4) My computer crashed and I lost everything, including over 1,000 pictures, my medical dictionary and the transcription shortcuts that were unique to my work (who knows how many thousand).

5) Liberty's beloved teacher quit. The one sure thing I kept saying I could count on for next year. He might even start school with a subsitute this year. I'm hoping for the best, but it was a blow.

I feel a re-working of my life taking place, like the slate being wiped clean so I can begin again. I'm turning my thoughts to perhaps doing something else now for a living, but what exactly has not yet revealed itself to me.

On another note, one of my birthday presents was Pat Conroy's new book, South of Broad, which I am relishing in a way that only Pat Conroy groupies can. He is my favorite author on this earth and he has not disappointed with this new novel.

Today, I am keeping focused on gratitude for my family and friends, the health I still have, the roof over my head and food on the table. I'm reframing my opinion of my age spots into just friendly freckles that are reminders of all of the wisdom I have gleaned from living. The hint of gray beneath my highlights I am referring to as glitter. And the wrinkles, laugh lines which remind me of all of the occasions I have had to smile (not frown).

I could talk about how Liberty's illness has made my face careworn. Or how exhausted I have been and, therefore, aged before my time. But, suddenly, I don't feel that way anymore. It's been a very long road with my son, and probably a lot more ahead. Instead of sadness, now I feel a kind of satisfaction that I have put forth all of my efforts and energy into helping this child feel better and do better in the world. What cause could be more worthwhile than that? Instead of keeping me from some unfulfilled destiny in life, I see that he was and always has been my destiny. Taking care of him and raising him is part of the ultimate "plan."

So, today, as I turn 50, I am not bemoaning my fate as I thought I might. Instead I am celebrating what is and, even though "what is" others might view as tragic, Life, for me, is still pretty damned good.