My husband told me this morning his
rationale for doing what I had expressly forbid. That is, throwing a
surprise party for my 50th birthday. The fact that the whole shindig
was his idea was surprise enough. But, as he explained this morning,
he wanted to do this because it marks the fact that I have officially
outlived my mother and most of her siblings.
Wrong, I said. I won't have outlived my
mom for another four months. Three siblings, yes. But not her. He was
surprised I was being so exact. I was amazed he didn't know I would
be.
So technically, this party should have
been thrown in four months. When it would have been a whole lot
colder outside than it already was. So it's just as well they did it
now.
With two parents who are healthy and
happy and who come with a fairly long-lived genetic heritage, my
husband can be forgiven for not assuming I would be excruciatingly
aware of exactly when I pass mine up. The bare hospital lights, the
elevator ride back to the family waiting room, and the fact that, as
my brother remembered yesterday, I was left to stumble through a
valedictorian speech a few weeks later to a crowd I knew my mom
wasn't in are memories whose clarity will never diminish. I will (and
do, regularly) forget car keys, lunch appointments, and important
meetings, but I won't forget that. I know exactly how old she was.
On my birthday last week, I posted a
song I told my friends was my “Anthem for Turning 50.” The chorus
says, “I want to live like there's no tomorrow, love like I'm on
borrowed time. It's good to be alive.” More than most, I feel like
I have a grasp on that borrowed time concept.
Does that sound fatalistic? Not at all.
I fully plan to live another fifty if God gives it to me. As I told
my sister yesterday, when she tried to remake me as a child, she
learned to have a healthy regard for my stubbornness. It's not
pessimistic; it's just a choice to be aware of what should and should
not be taken for granted.
I also told my sister yesterday that I
do not nor ever will have a bucket list. It's not that I don't have a
lot of things I want to do. Way more than I can accomplish. But I
want to have a bucket lifestyle, not a bucket list. Bucket lists are
about conquering fears and meeting adventures. I don't want to
relegate that to special events or planned excursions. I want it to
be my daily default. I want every day to be one in which I ask myself
what needs facing, do I have the courage to do it, and how will it
help someone else?
Whether that means holding a tarantula
(oh yeah, scratch that one off the nonexistent list), writing
something that tells the truth, or taking a break for a friend or
child, I want to do it like I may not get the chance again. I don't
do that perfectly. It may take another fifty years. That's OK. I'll
take it. It's been a pretty good run so far.
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