It is the afternoon of the eve of #51. Naturally, my mind is scanning through the past fifty years. And I am, at once, amused, dismayed, and proud. I have survived much, achieved much, and lost some.
Some experiences I must laugh at. Such as the time I entered a grocery store, escaping from a torrential downpour, to find--after several minutes of shopping--that a young child was staring in horror at my feet. Clinging to his mother, he exclaimed, "Mama what is it?" "It" was my stylish canvas shoes on "agitate", foaming with every step due to lack of proper rinsing after a good cleaning. Or the time I excitedly attempted to jump up on the stage area of my favorite dance club, only to fall flat on my face because my jeans were so tight, they did not allow for bending at the hip. I even have to smile about the blood pressure machine flashing "Please fix me" while having violent child labor due to being over-dosed on labor inducing meds. I laugh because, really, could these happen to anyone but me? Love-able, sometimes ditsy, me? Possibly, but not likely.
I am a survivor. Of this I am proud.
As enter my fifty first year, I can say I've survived, child abuse--emotional, physical and sexual-(I've been told). Rape, bullying, two nervous breakdowns, divorce, poverty at my own hand, and near poverty due to divorce. I've been forced to sell the house, once built with me in mind, and have moved my son and myself into a much smaller apartment. Everyday I live with invisible diseases not understood, or believed by much of anyone, but which have affected every corner of my life. Yet, I get out of bed every day and give it all another shot.
I've survived too much booze, too many men, being bruised by some of those men, and used by most. And somehow, I've come out of that still liking men, and believing that romance exists.
Like everyone, I've lost people I loved; one of the hardest being my first "real" boyfriend.
I've watched my father live out his promise to drink himself to death. I've seen my mother go from movie/gambling/shop-aholic to speechless, helpless stroke victim.
Yes, I've survived much. More than some, much, much less than others. For all the pain, I've gained wisdom, compassion, empathy, and tolerance. These things have helped me become the woman I am today, which I think is a pretty cool gal.
My greatest accomplishment is a young man, nearly 15 now. He is strong, strong-willed, smart, smart-mouthed, athletic, funny, loyal, and kind. He is also short-tempered, and sometimes very, very, angry. He, too, has survived much. If it is possible to love another human being too much, then I am guilty of over-loving my son. He is, and always will be...my best guy.
Tomorrow I will turn 51 year old without ado. It will be Saturday. I will be trying to figure out how to keep the electricity on, and listing the myriad of grocery items to buy when the long anticipated money "rolls" in.
However, I will know in my heart that being given birthday number 51 is my reward for making it through birthdays 1 - 50.
