born to run since '65

this is sixty

I am not sure if I believed I would get here. My Mom Ellen died when she was just 50. In the year between 49 and that impending milestone, I wondered, “what if this was all you had left.” Needless to say, that lit a very urgent fire in me and shit got done! My work was largely born of that musing.

Not sure I consciously thought I would also die young, but the flavor of the idea did rattle and roll around my mind’s eye from time to time. It was in that year and each forward I decided to really dig in and celebrate my age. Yeah, it’s just a number, but to a griever it is also years ahead without a loved one. For each one I counted forward, Mom’s age stayed there still. If you knew her, you might think she would have liked, even kind of loved that forever young status. Forever fifty.

I started to say, “I get to be 51….” and so on through the decade. This is true and also devastatingly bittersweet. I wanted to get older beside her. Some part of me feels now I also move forward not just with her, but for her.

For many grievers, these big milestones bring up memories, rituals and reflections. On birthdays past, I have purchased something special for me, from her. For others, I have put my feet in the sand and surf of beaches she would have loved, but never touched. There have been years I returned to the hotspots of our youth, like The Windmill (if you know, you know!), had a cone with sprinkles at Carvel, found a juicy Santa Rosa plum, or taken in theater with her suede Anne Klein purse by my side.

Photo by Jose Antonio Gallego Vázquez on Unsplash

This is a year of firsts without my father and so, my first birthday without them both. I missed him extra this morning. It’s stunning to grieve him anew, while I have been grieving Mom for decades. This year from Dad to me, I started a fundraiser for Alzheimer's research. I hope that in my lifetime I see a cure. What a gift that would be for so many. Watching his brilliant mind fade was not how we imagined his retirement unfolding.

Tonight, I will gather with friends and family from near and far to take in Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere. As a true blue Jersey girl, this seems fitting. Dipping into the dark of the movies and disappearing into story was a daytime grief-relief I long enjoyed. Treating myself some days and evenings to popcorn and Twizzlers dinner—grief and proper nutrients be damned.

I am grateful and bereft. Somewhere in the middle there lies the bittersweet landing I often find on these big days. Celebrating my good fortune, health, family and friends—always. Missing my folks more than you could know. I searched for a photo of the three of us, found a few from my first wedding. They had long been separated and divorced and now, me too. My sister sent me a voice mail she saved from her 50th from Dad. He wishes her 50 more in good heath. She brought Mom’s wishes alive with a little Ai sleight of hand. The soundtrack is an ancient recording from the old answering machine salvaged and savored.

There have been so very many ways I have remembered this day I came into the world. Essays of late have me dipping back into the epic homemade birthdays they created, replete with halloween themes and kiddie tea sandwiches on special orange and black dyed bread. No clue how or where Mom ordered those up?

Tomorrow will be a day of back to regular old missing them. But for today, I celebrate us all. The trusty trio that started our family and made me the eldest daughter. A role I take on with the greatest pride.

Here is to birthdays and “getting to be” — thanks for celebrating with me.

x, B.

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