February 8ths Past
Today is February 8th again. Not a significant day for most, but for me it is my 42nd birthday. That number sounds so old to me. Yet I feel the same as the day I turned 16. Not energy-wise, mind you; on that front I feel 82 chasing after a four- and one-year-old all day. But in my heart I'm still that same youthful, thin girl.
As I think back on past February 8ths, I recall the second grade birthday party I invited friends to but failed to mention to my mom. Until guests arrived at the door in dresses and bearing presents. The year after we moved across town I had an ice skating party with both old friends and new. In ninth grade my mom broke her arm on my birthday and spent the night in the hospital. Another year our car slid into the ditch as we returned friends to their homes on a snowy February 8th night. We waited in a country house for the tow truck to rescue us. Mom would take just me out to a fancy dinner on my birthdays--that was special. Then after I was married, John and I were living in the U.S. Virgin Islands. We didn't have much money, but he took me to an open air restaurant in Christiansted and afterward we walked the boardwalk. My 40th birthday--no one remembered and I spent the day in tears.
Memories. Some bad, some good. I don't have a single memory of my father being present or even sending a card on my birthdays. Yet I know he loved me. He showed me in other ways. I suppose birthdays are a microcosm of life--some days are vivid, others gray and rain streaked. But all working together to form who we become.
I hope your days are more vivid than gray and if they are gray I pray they are turning you into a brighter creation.
Warm wishes,
Traci
As I think back on past February 8ths, I recall the second grade birthday party I invited friends to but failed to mention to my mom. Until guests arrived at the door in dresses and bearing presents. The year after we moved across town I had an ice skating party with both old friends and new. In ninth grade my mom broke her arm on my birthday and spent the night in the hospital. Another year our car slid into the ditch as we returned friends to their homes on a snowy February 8th night. We waited in a country house for the tow truck to rescue us. Mom would take just me out to a fancy dinner on my birthdays--that was special. Then after I was married, John and I were living in the U.S. Virgin Islands. We didn't have much money, but he took me to an open air restaurant in Christiansted and afterward we walked the boardwalk. My 40th birthday--no one remembered and I spent the day in tears.
Memories. Some bad, some good. I don't have a single memory of my father being present or even sending a card on my birthdays. Yet I know he loved me. He showed me in other ways. I suppose birthdays are a microcosm of life--some days are vivid, others gray and rain streaked. But all working together to form who we become.
I hope your days are more vivid than gray and if they are gray I pray they are turning you into a brighter creation.
Warm wishes,
Traci
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