I just turned seventy years old yesterday. Years ago I had thought I would reserve a big table at one of my favorite restaurants, invite my closest friends and we would eat, drink and be merry. The thing is two of my best friends have died and my partner of forty-one years was dead as well. How could I reach such a milestone and have them not there to celebrate with me. The party would of felt lonely.
I woke up like every other day, except it was my birthday. My best friend, who I now live with left me a birthday note alongside a chocolate cake with a waiting candle to make a birthday wish on. I drank my morning coffee reading Facebook greetings and texts from friends and family far and near. Later in the day, I grabbed a quick lunch and spent time at the beach. The salted air and rolling waves brought me comfort. I sat quietly thinking about what is next and tried to understand what it means to be seventy. Before my thoughts got too deep, the phone rang. It was my college friend Nancy. We had a good talk. Her voice reminded me of who I was. There is something very grounding about knowing people from a time when one hardly knows themselves. I also talked with my mother-in-law and that reminded me of how I am loved. Later that night, Julie and I celebrated with pizza, a few gifts and that chocolate cake with a candle to make my wish on.
I still miss those who are gone. But was glad to know I made it to seventy, still had people around me who cared, and was free to do whatever I wanted the whole day. Happy birthday to me.