I woke up to the pitter patter of my not so little kids. Everyone snuggled in our bed for a birthday cuddle, and then I was showered with gifts. It’s always a good way to start the day. Magazines, books, chocolate, homemade salt scrubs, card games, love notes, clothes, and an Indian cookbook. I got a serious haul, and my little Ruby made me breakfast.
All the kids missed the bus, so I chauffeured them to school. I spent the morning in my favorite bookstore. I have always been an avid reader, and my mom would always buy me a book for my birthday, and I did the same for hers. We always knew the book would come to us next, so it was more of a gift to both of us. I’ve kept up the tradition, and bought myself the last copy of When Breath becomes Air. It’s the true story of a doctor who is diagnosed with stage 4 terminal lung cancer. He always thought he would write a book when he retired from medicine. After he got diagnosed he realized that dying meant he was in early retirement, so he got a book deal and wrote his book. It is suppose to be a celebration of life through the eyes of a man who knows he is dying. The thing is we are all dying. We all have a finite amount of time left to live, and should try to live our lives to the fullest with that knowledge in the forefront of our minds. If we don’t acknowledge it, we won’t appreciate our gift of life.
I’m happy I am another year older. If I wasn’t getting older, I’d be dead. So cheers to a few more laugh lines, gray hairs, and a few sags here and there. It just proves that I have lived another day, and I hope to have many more.