Tomorrow is my 50th birthday. I remember writing a blog post about feeling 42, eight years ago. Little did I know then, the hard left my life path would take starting just a year later.
I wrote about forgetfulness and how messy my house was with a three year old and a teenager living in it. How completely unconcerned either of them could be with a wreck of a house. How I was forgetting lessons and could not tell you what was on my calendar two days from today. How I was drinking wine like a fish.
Looking back, as we tend to do, I realize those were some days to be grateful for. With the maelstrom of what was to come, those should have been fairly carefree days. And maybe they actually were, but according to my blog posts, they really weren’t. I was already stressed, and worried and worn out. And Alzheimer’s hadn’t even started yet. But here is what I’ve learned, eight years later.
Fifty is choosing to celebrate quietly with just my family that I have learned to appreciate so much but wishing like hell that my parents were still here to celebrate too.
Fifty is losing two pounds and feeling great, then eating a normal meal and gaining it right back. Realizing that you might as well get comfortable in your own skin because it’s probably not going to change much, well, for the better at least. Embracing wrinkles and dry skin and sun spots, trying mightily to use daily moisturizer and sunscreen. Being grateful that I truly don’t have any gray hairs yet, but these chin hairs are quite the shock, and owning three pairs of tweezers just for this purpose.
Fifty is knowing that every minute spent on our vacation in two weeks is going to be absolutely worth all the money and time and worry because once I get on that cruise ship everything will just melt away. I’ll have my girl and her cousin and hopefully they can keep each other entertained while Tony and I chill out and not drink – well I won’t be drinking much at least – this acid reflux problem has got my alcohol sidelined unfortunately.
Fifty is being almost done with my labor of love – my book I wrote about my parents and their story, and our story of Alzheimer’s. Hoping I can get it published and thousands of people might benefit from reading it. A hope I feel so deeply in my heart that it MUST happen, it must. I will certainly make every effort to make this happen. If you’re going to wish me a happy birthday, please also send LUCK and GOOD VIBES that this book actually happens in a way that it will be beneficial to a lot of people who need some comfort and permission to FEEL BAD during their hard times.
Fifty is slowing down. Less being “out there,” and more being “in here.” Learning that naps and relaxing during the day is more than ok, you’ve been stressed to the max and through the ringer and you deserve a break, especially in your own head. Being some bored, like I was as a child riding in a car, is not a bad thing to be. Trying to overlook the messy chaos in your house because you know there are more important things. Doing laundry 24/7 because your child can’t keep socks on her feet nor clothes on her body long enough to make them dirty but once they hit the floor you know you’ve got to wash them. And not getting too worked up about it. (Well, sometimes…)
Being fifty is accepting the Depression that started when I lost my first child and never really went anywhere. Up and down and forward and backwards progress but getting to the point when you just say, hey depression, I’ll allow you to be here but you can’t get too stuck in ok? Just hover in the background and I can make it. And maybe one day Peace will take Depression’s hand and walk it away from me. Maybe.
Being fifty is choosing to embrace all the things, like menopause and pre-teen girls (at the same time, Lord give me strength!), trying not to let anxiety take over, and resting in the arms of my slowed-down world, waiting to see where that next step will lead me. Trusting in God, trusting in me, trusting in us and our child. Accepting my crazy, intense, sensitive, compassionate wild child for who she is right now, and who she will grow into. I can’t wait to find out.
I hope that the fifties are the best years of my life. I’m totally ready for that.
Happy Birthday to me – this is a picture that my Girl painted for me last week. A bit premature but I hung it up anyway so I could reflect on the past fifty years.
