Tag: birthday

Chasing Sunsets

I recently celebrated a birthday and must admit I always find birthdays a little bittersweet. When I was in my twenties (and for a moment we’ll pretend that wasn’t so long ago), I used to regard that bittersweetness as the result of a remote traumatic experience that occurred on my birthday. But having done the work of healing, and as I got older, I recognized the sentiment was rooted in something seemingly deeper, yet in a way, much simpler. It is somewhat analogous to a sunset which, while beautiful, still represents an end. A birthday signals an opportunity to reflect on where I have been, who I have been, what I have accomplished, and how far I still have to go. What will that next sunrise look like? It’s a chance to be grateful for the tremendous things I have overcome in my life, as well as for the amazing friends who have accompanied me on this journey. It’s a chance to revel in the memories and experiences of the last year(s)…every beautiful sunset…while still acknowledging the occurrences of trauma, loss, or pain that can punctuate any number of the preceding 365 days. 

Like many of you, I am no stranger to the fact that pain, change, and loss, despite being part of life and God’s plan, can be hard as hell sometimes. Recognizing how far we have to go individually, and how much work we need to do as a loving, empathetic, selfless society, can feel overwhelming. And even the most eager to attain growth and progression…those ready to advocate for themselves and others…can sometimes feel as if they are standing still. 

Those bittersweet moments of taking stock require a tremendous amount of grace and love, not to mention an insane dose of patience (often in short supply). I have always clung to the notion that most things happen for a reason, according to a plan for which, ironically, none of us has the blueprints. That said, I think we can all agree that sometimes things happen that are so difficult, painful, unexpected, seemingly senseless, that it’s hard to imagine there could ever be a reason that could do it justice. Is there always a lesson in death, war, violence, and loss? However, I suppose these are occupational hazards of operating in a world with free will…which admittedly feels like a fancier version of “it is what it is.” Yet it is also that same free will that allows us to make choices that hopefully, if we choose wisely, allow us to live in authenticity and love.

So for this next year the best gift I can give myself is for my actions and inactions to continue to reflect and foster the life I am building for myself and my children, and I pray for grace and love throughout this next trip around the sun. May God grant that the less palatable, painful moments be tempered with an abundance of sweetness and some beautiful views of the sun.

Holy Waterbed

Ninety-six years ago today, my grandmother was born. I had envisioned this day would involve a visit, a meal, and undoubtedly some dessert, as I have always, to the dismay of my inner, self-anointed nutritionist, shared her fondness for sweets. However, God and the universe had other plans, and she passed away on December 17th, a mere week before Christmas and twelve days shy of that birthday dessert. 

As you might imagine given her age, she had amassed quite the impressive repertoire of life experiences. She had five children, four grand-children, and five great-grand-children. My grandmother attended college, spoke several languages, worked outside the home, traveled to more countries than I can count, cooked and baked prolifically, volunteered, attended mass every day, and drove until we could no longer, in good conscience, allow her to do so. She was truly the matriarch of our family, in every sense, and I spent a month each summer living with her, yielding some of my fondest childhood memories. 

But there was another, unspoken yet more important, way in which she left an indelible impact on me. And it is only now, as I write these words, that I realize I never shared this with her.  Yes…I know…there should have been plenty of time to share somewhere in those ninety-five plus years. Yet somehow, despite the fact that I wrote about it in my manuscript over a year ago, it just did not occur to me to tell her. As it is twelve days too late to remedy that, I will just have to hope that, as a woman of incredible strength, wisdom, and intuition, she simply knew. Ironically, her greatest impact on me likewise came without much overt verbalization. Having survived endometrial (uterine) cancer, a mere year prior to my own cancer diagnosis, my grandmother was the ultimate example of faith and strength.

Shortly after I was diagnosed at age eleven, I lay on my waterbed thinking about my reality. Yes, I had a waterbed. In 1989, it was still cool. And for any readers born in the late nineties or beyond, I will be sincerely flattered if google sees a significant uptick in the search term “waterbed,” as a result of this post! Alright, back to my contemplative waterbed scene. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, and wondered whether or not I would be OK…whether or not I might die from this disease.  Quite oddly, I never allowed that thought to really take hold in my mind. I remember telling myself that since my own grandmother had recently survived cancer, that surely I would do the same. That was it. It was decided.

It was not a formal prayer. I do not think I even asked God to heal me in that moment. Instead, it was as if I acknowledged that God and I had some type of arrangement or understanding that I would simply be ok. “Hey God. We’re good, right? Yes? Ok, good.” It felt as simple as that. I can only wish my current adult practices of prayer and faith were that simple. While I would not wish to relive that experience, I would happily take back some of that simple, blissful faith, without the side of the adolescent awkwardness, of course.

It is that simple example of spirituality for which I would thank my grandmother, if had a few more moments with her. And perhaps, given the symbolism of water throughout many different religions, it was appropriate that the impression of my grandmother’s faith was appreciated while lying on a waterbed. Happy birthday to my grandmother, and may she rest in eternal peace.