Today I turn 52. Historically I have always loved my birthday. You can ask any of my friends and they’ll likely attest to my birthday zeal. I always looked forward to it, counted down the days, and usually planned multiple celebrations including the exact same birthday dinner year after year. This isn’t as self-absorbed as it probably sounds, as I also love other people’s birthdays. I think that all birthdays are special — warranting attention, love and gratitude.
This year though, as my birthday arrives, I am overcome with ambivalence. On the one hand, I am looking forward to spending the day with Cassie and seeing friends and family this weekend. On the other hand, I no longer want to mark the passage of time. Nor do I welcome the sense that the years seem to be speeding up. Since Cassie’s diagnosis, I feel like our relationship with time is changing. I want the years to move slower not faster. If we really only have limited years left I don’t want to acknowledge another one passing. I feel that with my birthday I can hear a giant clock ticking faster and louder and I want to cover my ears.
When Cassie and I were talking about this at breakfast yesterday, she said: “I guess birthdays are like everything else now — they’re different.” That seems right. We are living in a new normal and nothing is exempt not even birthdays or holidays (New Year’s Eve is another tough one when it comes to marking time). We still feel joy but it’s often more muted. We still celebrate but with a different lens. We still embrace gratitude but also accept what we have lost as our life has changed. We know we can’t stop time but we want to slow it down, day-by-day, as much as we can.
This year, as I blow out the candles on the giant birthday cake that I always share with my niece Sylvia I won’t be wishing for the Cubs to win the World Series in 2020. I’ll be looking at Cassie and wishing for more time.
