It’s my birthday. I’m 63-years-old today.
When we live longer lives than our parents, it’s hard to imagine ourselves aging past them. It was that way for me as I approached 55, the age my mom was when she died suddenly. Now I’m two years away from reaching the last birthday milestone my dad celebrated.
I was thinking about Dad this morning, and what his life was like when he was 63. Health issues robbed him of the kind of retirement he planned for. His age 63 was a lot older than mine. I can’t imagine Mom at this age at all, and my mind gets tangled thinking about what it would be like to sit and enjoy a cup of tea with her today. If you have the privilege and honour of sitting at a table and having tea with your mom, your grown daughter, and your granddaughter, consider yourself greatly blessed, my friend.
My son called first thing to wish me a Happy Birthday. I enjoyed a delicious breakfast of Dutch strawberry pannenkoeks and good conversation with a friend.
Later, Gerry and I went for a short drive and I claimed my free cup of Starbucks coffee. I sipped my caramel macchiato while we drove past the still-snow-covered community garden and through my favourite park. We chatted about how we will get out together more often now that winter’s releasing her icy grip. I anticipate many afternoons in the near future when we’ll grab our cameras and head out for photoplay.
This evening, the four of us will celebrate with Chinese take-out and a pretty tasty-looking chocolate cake I spied earlier (Maya’s birthday cheesecake didn’t last long enough for me to claim it as my birthday cake too). I’ve received text messages and good wishes on social media throughout the day. It’s been a quiet celebratory day with no talk about you-know-what). Simply perfect.