This week, I celebrated the birthdays of some dear, close friends and loved ones.
It’s interesting how birthdays often land on the same day. The same week. (Like my entire family’s birthdays – oh the leftover cake. I’m getting a sugar high just thinking about it.) All these people who I care about, all in one swoop. One week. One time of the year. All true friends. The kind you can share serious, life-changing events with and the next minute, laugh with until you almost pee through your Spanx. I also have two relatives who share the same birthday. They both have the biggest hearts and a sense of humor that often has me running to the nearest ladies room.
There were laughs, hugs, cards, toasts, giggles, dinners, brunches, gifts, four kinds of chicken salad, three kinds of salads and 45 reasons to celebrate this week. I’m honestly so verklempt. And I still need to celebrate with one of my dearest friends next week! I hosted a brunch for a very dear friend, my soul sister, who is such a breath of fresh air. And that familiar saying from SNL, “I’m Verklempt,” kept coming up as the tears welled up in her eyes. I repeated it, with a giggle or two. Because we both knew it was a special time. A genuine feeling of gratitude for good friends and good times.
And then, after a self-imposed and much-needed pause from Facebook, I checked my newsfeed. (I can’t help myself. It’s like chocolate for the brain.) Right then, I saw a post from one of my best childhood friends. A post that makes you pause. And hold your breath. And forget about all the trivial and political b.s. polluting the internet. All these happy moments. And then it slaps you in the face of how short life really is.
My friend lost her grandfather this week. He was over 100 years old. She always shares updates about her visits with her grand dad, highlighting how despite his age, he maintained a sense of humor and intelligence that rivals some 65-year-olds. He was one of the good ones. Then I saw another post and then another from friends who have lost loved ones this week. Births. Deaths. Birthdays. Funerals. I honestly believe it doesn’t matter how old the person is when they pass. It’s their presence in your life that matters. The loss still leaves a huge hole in your heart. One that can linger the rest of your life.
It’s not my intention to have this post bring you down. But to remind you why we should celebrate. And to do it with meaning. We often get so caught up in our own stuff, schedules, menus, streamers, the this and the that. We worry so much about taking pictures of everything (yes I’m totally guilty of this), we forget to enjoy the moment. The moments. And to grab hold of the important people and take in the experiences. The present, not all the presents. (Not that hanging up adorable streamers is a bad thing. Especially when they’re pink. Or giving cute frames from Home Goods is a crime.) All I’m trying to say is that we need to remember the good times. The good people. And appreciate that although it feels like it, some of us aren’t going to be around in 50 or 60 years. But in 60 years, the people we love will remember the moments. The times we had. The sweet, precious times. So all I’m asking is make this year, this day, this moment count.
And have a piece of cake for crying out loud.😉