47 and Counting

Today was my birthday. My 47th birthday to be exact and I will admit to not having been too excited about it. Not because I am unhappy about getting older; I don’t think I have ever been distressed by the numbers. It is just that I find birthdays to come with an enormous amount of pressure.

“What are you doing for your birthday?”

“Have anything special planned?”

We are programmed to expect something amazing from our special day. Yet I know that this is not always the way things work out. This year in particular I had been quite apprehensive about my birthday because this year it coincided with my sister’s yahrzeit. Anticipating the mixing of emotions surrounding both of these occasions I imagined I could hope for awkward at best.

Yet the day turned out to be just right. It was a relatively quiet day. No big birthday bash. No overwhelming bouts of tears. A practically perfect day. A day filled with birthday wishes from family and friends. An afternoon with my daughter crafting and cooking. A dinner with my family and dessert with our faux family. It was a day with room to feel loved and to remember those whom I have loved.

A day to celebrate life.