30 Years Old

May the long-time sun shine upon you

I have spent a fair amount of time this past week deep in reflection, hard put to explain why this birthday is a milestone or — more than a milestone. I can’t do it. Why should I put into words the way I feel, anyway? What is this urge? I guess many of you reading here have “known” us for nearly seventeen years. It was 2008 when I began a moon worn as if it had been a shell, and then migrated here in 2021. I have written many thousands of posts, know many of you both in person and in heart and have been nurtured here in ways that have been profound and life-altering. Thank you. I was a year or so older than Sophie is now when I became pregnant with her, and here we are. The emotions are complex. I looked through old photos tonight, shortly before midnight on the eve of her birthday — hundreds of them carefully placed in albums — and as I turned the pages, I cried a bit — there were my little nephews with Sophie sandwiched between them (such sweet little faces), my sisters with Sophie, my father asleep with Sophie’s head lying on his stomach, my mother with arms around Sophie, me with Sophie in New York, in La Jolla, the Anzo Borrego desert, the beach and it all came rushing back and I knew what to write. Sophie has lived a life so rich in love, has been so loved, is loved so well and so much that my heart is broken open. That’s all. Happy thirtieth birthday, my precious daughter. You are loved.