Today is my birthday.

Today I turned 48 years old. I think this is quite an accomplishment. I have officially out-lived my mother. I have a 20 year old daughter and an 18 year old son, so I'm not really that old, right? I was barely 46 when my husband died. He was 44. We had been married for 23 years -- half of my life. These statistics are somewhat startling.

Really, it's been more like a birthday week. I've had no fewer than 3 birthday lunches and two birthday dinners. I have a table-ful of gifts that keeps growing! I am nearly overwhelmed by the lovin'. Truly. How blessed can one person be!? Can you say that you've been sung "Happy Birthday to You" in Italian -- twice! (surrounded by formidable church ladies)? I can say that! See? I am blessed! I've been remembered by my family, sweet friends and loving neighbors. Today I got a wonderful pedicure, making an "Altar in the World" of the massaging chair and attention to my feet (a reference to a book I'm reading by Barbara Brown Taylor. Yes, I'm reading a book). Even the sweet servers at my favorite Mexican restaurant catered to me -- I got a hug AND a kiss -- a piece of tres leches cake! and they played "Las Mananitas" for me -- their version of "Happy Birthday."

A crowning glory of my day was the attempted delivery of some wonderfulness from my son. I have no idea what it was supposed to be other than it could have some chocolate in it. I was not here to accept the delivery; the deliveryman waited and waited but was not permitted to leave this special thing on my porch bench. I have NO idea what it is and I am crushed that his loving gift was not successfully transferred to me. He had no idea that I would be out and about getting my toes done! Of course he assumed that I would be home -- but I wasn't and now I feel terrible. But my heart does skip a beat knowing that he did something truly special to honor my day. I love you.

Birthdays are difficult for me. Few of my loved ones have birthdays much past the 50 year mark. Last year I was was harshly impacted by the fact that I had become the age my mother was when she died. She lived just 12 short days beyond her 47th birthday, so I actually out-lived her a long time ago -- but the actual age has an impact on your psyche. Married half my life, but never any longer than 23 years. Good grief. The Fleet Foxes have a song that resonates a little with this concept. They sing "So now I am older than my mother and father when they had their daughter. Now what does that say about me?" He's talking about something different -- bemoaning the fact that he hasn't found true love yet -- but I sort of get it. I've out-lived my mother -- been married half of my short life ... I know it's a loose parallel, but I still relate to it when I hear it and I sing along!

Do the special people in my life know that I struggle with this? Is that why they really go all-out? Maybe last year ... but this year, too? Why so much attention!? Do you know me that well -- love me that beautifully -- to know that each year is almost punishment? That sounds so dumb! Each year is a gift! My children need me to hang in there -- to be healthy and live a nice long life. Why do birthdays seem punishing to me? I just don't know. Maybe next year will be different.

My 46th birthday occurred while David was in Hospice. It really was a gentle couple days. I remember the day before my birthday. Some friends had come to take me out for a birthday lunch. We were settled-in at the Tea Bazaar, not a long walk from David -- having a unique lunch and some needed fellowship and rest. My phone rang. It was David calling. Though in my normal life, this was not such an unusual thing -- THIS call was unusual and unexpected and very sweet. He had not been able to use his phone or speak with anyone on the phone for several weeks -- but there he was -- calling me ... like it was any other day. At first I was a little scared. Was he okay? But he was. He simply asked me what book I had been reading ... and did I have the next in the series. I answered him and he said good-bye. It was very comforting and unsettling all wrapped-up in one. At the time, it didn't really occur to me what that call was all about because he was sort of random those days. However, the following day -- my birthday -- I arrived at the house to discover a huge, bright and beautiful pot of yellow mums and a birthday gift from David. He had "gotten" me the latest book in the Kathy Reichs "Bones" series. He was quite pleased with himself. Perfect gifts. (I think that was the last book I read until the "Hunger Games.") And, though I planted that mum right outside my front door, it did not survive. This is a great sadness for me.

David died ten days later.

Remember ... I found a page in his journal -- written to me on that birthday. It's very private and precious, but I will share a little of it with you. He wrote, "... and each day I thank God for the day you were born and decided to hang your head on my shoulder and allow me to do the same. ... Yes, it has been an adventure, much as you are an adventure and today I celebrate another year of that adventure along with all those who know and love you ... Growing old together? So far, so good."

You see -- though he was a big dreamer, my only dream was to grow old with him. He was able to recall that and write about it with hope on my birthday.

I am now home for the night. All three of my sisters called -- with resounding "Happy Birthdays" sung to me followed by birthday chats. I will have a bowl of my special birthday ice cream (thank you :-) and read a little to catch-up with my book group.

Uncleaving ... is a good bit more difficult than it sounds. But thank God for all the birthday lovin', the "care packages" and containers for the things contained this week. Mercy wins tonight.