birthdays

Somehow in the last decades of living on my own I shifted from thinking about my brother as my sibling to thinking about him as a person. But lately I’ve been going back to thinking of him as my brother, remembering that we have that shared experience, the feeling of being on a team (Team Let’s Pretend, Team Stay Up Late, Team Don’t Tell Mom & Dad).

He and I have the same memories. Yes, from when we were kids, but also from being teens, watching MTV, figuring out the world, even Mom’s illness. That feeling of having someone who knows your history like that that is so reassuring. That’s what a sibling gives you, and that solidity is something I’ve taken for granted.

My brother is someone who will fight like hell for his family. He’s the person I’d call if I needed to get rid of a body or rig up a camp to survive the apocalypse. He is incredibly smart, sensitive, caring, and open and he’s been a good friend and good brother to me my whole life–even when I didn’t admit it.

Therapy has taught me that relationships and feelings take work, but that the work is worth it. I’m grateful I can work on myself and strengthen my oldest friendship: the one with my brother. Happy birthday, Alan. I love you.

There’s a special rare Saturday post today because it’s my dad’s birthday!

He’s always been the embodiment of “tough”–worked outside, worked hard, could climb a telephone pole, once fell off a telephone pole and broke a kneecap yet kept working–but in the last couple years, in Mom’s illness and death, he’s been more than tough: He’s been brave.

Tough is working hard to support your loved ones; brave is watching your loved one die while showing up for her every step of the way. Tough is ignoring pain; brave is living with pain every day and still making a life for yourself. Brave is figuring out new routines, new meals, new hobbies. My dad is so brave.

He’s always shown us what it means to be strong and live according to “The Cowboy Way,” but seeing his bravery, his patience, and his endurance in the face of everything has been inspiring. Thanks for setting such.an example for us, Dad. I love you.

Today’s my birthday! After 38, when my mom went through chemo and failed surgery, and 39, when we lost her and tried to just keep it together all year, reaching 40 feels like a miracle and absolutely nothing to fear.

Sure, I’m rapidly going gray, but after the last two years it makes sense. I’m still going to the gym and to therapy, I’m still trying to show up and be brave and use my words–and that’s all I’m going to try to keep doing for the year. I was talking to my friend last night about everything else I wanted to do in 2020 and she said, wisely and kindly, “I thought of the first year of my 40s as the warmup.”

So for 2020, my single goal is: “Use my words.”  Tell people I love them. Really listen to others. Speak up when something isn’t OK. Talk about my feelings, even though that’s still pretty terrifying.

As I enter another decade, I know objectively that I can do hard things. So I’ll keep doing them, and enjoy being alive and sharing it all with my loved ones.

It’s the birthday of the man I’ve gotten to spend nearly six years with.

I always used to roll my eyes when part of a couple would introduce the other part as “my better half” but with Doc, I get it: “better half” doesn’t just mean that he’s a good person; it means he’s a good person that you literally can’t imagine going through life without.

He’s the person I wish I could be–more patient, more willing to listen, less likely to judge. He is a man of hidden talents–he can drive a steel trailer and hit a target with a gun. And he’s always so damn quick and funny–it’s what I noticed about him first.

Every day I’m glad I met him and wonder how I got so lucky. Happy birthday, honey. I love you.

It’s my sister-in-law’s birthday today!

The word that came into my head first when I was thinking of this post was “capable.” She doesn’t make a big deal of it, but she can just DO most things–invest money, make quilts, grow food, bake bread, run races. I’ve often thought that she’d be a good pioneer, or someone you’d want around in an apocalypse.

Not only that, but she’s GOOD at what she does. I admire her most for how she’s raising her son to be such a well-rounded, rational human. She’s teaching him how to sew and bake. She’s setting an example by volunteering with the city government. She gives back by mentoring younger women. He sees her go to work every day and proudly tells everyone, “She builds rockets!”

In spite of all the things she’s doing for her job and her family, she makes time to be a good friend and a good daughter. When she talks to you, she gives you all of her attention–I hadn’t realized how rare that is until I noticed it. When someone as accomplished as she is wants to really listen to what’s going on in your life, it feels pretty great.

Happy birthday, Altair! Thanks for marrying my brother.

It’s my big brother’s birthday today! Before I started therapy  a year ago, I always assumed my brother wasn’t anxious because he’s so gregarious. He got my mom’s extrovert genes and, because I couldn’t talk to strangers without agony, I assumed Alan was just a fundamentally happy guy.

Now, of course, I realize that he got the family anxiety as much as I did, but it comes out in different ways. He is a happy guy, and so loyal to the ones he loves, generous and kind–but he also feels things deeply, worries as much as any of us, and just wants things to be perfect. (Brother, I feel you.)

He has the added worries of being a parent, which I honestly can’t imaging coping with, and he does such a good job with his son, who adores him. He lives much closer to my parents than I do so he took on the lion’s share of visiting them over the years, especially now that Mom is gone.

He has the mind of an engineer and the curiosity of a historian, an encyclopedic knowledge of anything mechanical. He does all the cooking for the family and is a better chef than I am, much more patient and willing to try new things.

My brother is a remarkable man who’s doing a great job and I’m proud to not only know him but call him family. Happy birthday, Alan. I love you.

This birthday appreciation post is tricky to write, because I know my dad will say, “I don’t need any special sympathy. Other people go through this, too.” But I want to tell the world how strong he is and how much I admire him for what he did for Mom.

We all helped with Mom’s illness but he was the one who had to carry the most, do the most, be the strongest for the longest time. He was at Mom’s side every minute. He handled appointments and pill schedules and injections and talked about making it to their 50th wedding anniversary. I don’t think “devotion” even begins to cover it; I can only hope I’ll be able to show (and receive) that kind of love.

Now he’s doing grocery shopping and pruning Mom’s roses and just…keeping going. The endurance required to do that in the smoking crater of his old life just staggers me.

He would always say to Mom during chemo, “You’re the strongest woman I know. You can do this.” In many ways, what he’s doing now requires even more strength. I always knew my dad was strong, but I didn’t know he was this strong.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you.

My nephew is EIGHT today! He’s very much a kid now, not a little boy, but he is such a delight.

As I’ve said before, you can’t put anything over on him. If you show him the why behind something and let him see it, then he’s just fine with it–but he’s not about to accept “because I said so” as a reason for anything.

He already has a very specific sense of style, just like his grandma. I’m standing by in case he ever needs help with his curly hair (I didn’t know what to do with mine until I was in my 20s) but he is very clear that he likes his “Einstein hair” just as it is. He also loves color; when he was at my house recently, he picked up some yarn in turquoise and royal blue. I had to stop and admire the pairing and think, “Huh, I never would have put those together, but they really work.”

You can see the love of color in his art, too, where he takes after his dad and grandpa. He also loves to engineer things (like his mom) and he’s always reading.

Happy birthday, Skyler! We all love you so much.

As I start 39 and 2019, I am not even sure how to feel.

On one hand, I’ve discovered powerlifting. I’ve discovered therapy and anti-anxiety medication. I’ve stopped drinking. I wake up happy, I’m in the best shape of my life, and I’m learning how to be a better daughter, sister, and partner.

On the other, my mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 pancreatic cancer last year. It’s as if the news has tied my family to a train track with no hope of  escape. The train is barreling down on us this year.

So instead of a phrase to aspire to or a goal to accomplish, this year’s theme for my life is a promise to myself and my family. If I’ve learned nothing else from therapy and the gym, it’s that things can hurt like hell and you will still survive them. They even stop hurting. Eventually.

We will be ok. We have our tools. We have each other. “And even semi-OK can be a miracle.”