42 Revisited

[Previously posted on Facebook last year on December 22nd. Today (November 22) would have been my Dad's 78th birthday. In the interest of gathering all my writing together, it seemed timely to repost it here. Thanks for reading y'all! -D]

Today I am 42. And this is totally fine. I will not say “OMG how am I this old?!”. I feel 42. I’ve lived it. I’m still living it. And it’s fine. I’ve felt all of these 42 years - I’ve lived them good and I’ve lived them hard. I’ve lived them gently and obnoxiously… solemnly and loudly. All the sweet, all the sour, and everything in-between. There are some years that were full of more life than others. There are some years that equally sucked that life back. And it’s all fine.

New friends that I meet ask my age and are in wonder of my answer. “What’s my secret?”, they ask…. “I drink lots of water, wear sunscreen, and I hold no regrets”. I also drink a lot of wine and coffee but ya know…. Everything in moderation. The age “42” has more meaning to me than that though. More meaning than these physical wrinkles across my face and body can say. More meaning than this learned heart can comprehend and articulate.

42 was the last age my father knew. He did not live to see his 43^rd birthday. I was 7 years old when he died. I don’t remember much. Aside from nostalgic photos engrained in my mind, and the memories I’ve manifested from them. The “tick tick tick” sound of the black and white reel-to-reel films I’ve memorized and catalogued, now packed away into a disintegrating box somewhere.

It goes without saying, I cannot discount that when my father died, my mother lost her husband (ex-husband if we are being technical). She had 3 kids at the time, me being the youngest. I am forever grateful for her perseverance, strength, and unconditional love it took to get us all through those years. Wow, we were assholes. For those of you that were there for us, I thank you. And it’s likely there are more people than I know, or am aware of.

I will live to see 43. Something my father did not. Perhaps my next birthday will be more poignant, but I’ve always been drawn to the even years, so here it is. I doubt he ever fathomed he would have 3 children that would outlive him. No one could ever imagine such a thing. We don’t live out of fear of the unknown, but rather for the mystery and enchantment of it. Perhaps the creative spirit in me is fueled by his loss. I know he would be proud.

This is not expressed out of sadness, but of celebration. A celebration of life, memories, family and friends. A celebration of pain and sorrow; joy and hope…. for we could never really experience one without the other. There would be no shadows without the light. 

“O Me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer. 
That you are here—that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.” 

― Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

P.S. Mom, you are a rock star. The older I get, the more I understand. I love you. To John and Debie (my older brother and sister), thanks for being my protectors. You knew more than me at the time, and always will. Thanks for holding that space for me. We are all ok. We are all more than ok.