Celebrate Anyways

My birthday was last week. I was in California as the day approached, and Kate asked me how I'd like to celebrate. One would think this is an easy question, but it stopped me short. I started crying. I realized how deeply I am grieving the many days these last two years I lost to cancer treatments - mine and Kate's.

I didn't have it in me to want to celebrate the passing of that particular set of days.

And.

As I pondered my reaction to her simple question, I realized that, even though I couldn't quite find it in me to celebrate this birthday, I DID want to BE celebrated. 

I wanted my people to tell me they are glad I am still here. I wanted to hear they saw my struggles last year and cried with me. I wanted to hear my continued presence in this life matters to them. (I did know this already, but needed to hear it again.)

Somehow, my people heard my wish.

I was still in the midst of figuring out all the above when my phone dinged. Diane and Gary wondered, "Would I like to join them for a happy hour celebration the day of my birthday, once I got home?" Yes. Yes, I would.

Before I left California, my family there celebrated me with candles and my favorite ice cream and some pie (instead of cake. because, Pi Day!) As they sang the familiar birthday song, tears came to my eyes, triggered by the love I saw reflected in theirs.

I flew home Sunday, and my body was still figuring out time zones when the doorbell rang on Monday. It was Karlie. "Here, I brought you flowers! I don't have free time today, and wanted to help you celebrate."

Happy hour later that evening was filled with warm kindness and delicious food. I came home to find Joe and his family had stopped by with cake while I was out and left it in my fridge. (They came back the next day to help me eat it...)

All day, my phone pinged with messages from people wishing me a Happy Birthday.

A package of chocolates arrived from Jane, one of my oldest friends, with a note telling me that even though I'm not 64 any more, she still needs me and is happy to feed me next time she sees me.

And so I start another year of life with my grief gently eased a bit.

Knowing tomorrows are not guaranteed. 

Knowing I am loved today.