7/30/26

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 66 years old, which is amazing to me. I don’t feel like I’m 66. I feel like I am permanently stuck in my forties, particularly 43. That’s the age I always give when people ask what age I would be if I could choose. I loved being 43. It was old enough to be taken seriously (finally!), yet young enough to still feel…young.

The 6s in my age and the year captured my attention. I turned 6 years old in 1966. And now I’m 66 years old in 2026. Something about the 3 6s in my age and the year has just really roped me in.

I remember my 6^th birthday really well. I was entranced then too, by “6 in 66”. It wasn’t my “golden birthday”, that wouldn’t hit until I was 29. But 6 in 66…I remember clearly, clearly thinking, Well, it’s all downhill from here.

I was a serious kid.

So now, 66 in 2026. Despite everything that’s happened in the last 2 years, I don’t feel like it’s all downhill from here. In many ways, I feel like I’m shaking off the difficulty of the last two years, similar to a dog shaking off water after a bath. I’m not leaving it behind – Michael will never be left behind – but I’m looking around. I glance at his photo often. But mostly, I look outward.

As much as we complain about social media, there are times it’s a real miracle. Starting the day before my birthday, through the day, and even still today, my Facebook page was deluged with birthday wishes. They came from people I truly know to people who only know me and follow me, through my posts, my books, my teaching, my experiences. Despite the losses of the last two years, it was impossible to feel alone on my birthday. I was surrounded by support, caring, and genuine friendship.

I had dinner in my favorite restaurant with 3 out of 4 of my kids (one lives in Louisiana – hell of a commute) and my only grandchild. I was surrounded, even though the chair directly across from me was empty. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.

And here’s the thing – if I hadn’t canceled the cruise I’d scheduled, I wouldn’t have had my birthday dinner with my kids and grandkid. I needed to be with my family.

I know there are people who think I’m crazy for canceling the cruise. I see it as the exact opposite. For a change, I listened only to myself, to what I was telling me. Eight months ago, when I booked that cruise, I thought I’d be able to handle it. I thought I wanted to do it. As the trip got closer, I knew this wasn’t the case at all. With everything that’s happened, I need to be home, to keep a hand on what’s still familiar, still there. Though I was told by many that the cruise would be good for me, I knew it wouldn’t. And when I found myself realizing the night before that I was doing the cruise for others and not for myself, it was time to let it go. To let me go from the expectations of others, and do what I wanted to do.

So I did.

It’s funny, because all the way through this, starting on January 17, 2024, when Michael was struck and run over by the passenger van, people have said to me, “You’re a strong woman. You can do this.” I am a strong woman, I am very aware of that, but on that day and for a long time afterwards, I felt like my strength had been ground to the roadway, run over by the same passenger van that hit Michael. I was asked, and did, many things that I never wanted to do, and that I didn’t feel like I could do.

The hardest of these was to make the decision to remove all life support and transfer Michael to hospice. That haunts me still.

But truly, it wasn’t until I said no to the cruise, a few hours before I was supposed to leave for the airport, that I felt my strength soar back. I was standing up for myself, and I was doing what I knew was right for me.

A good friend who is fighting a cancer diagnosis said today, “Being told I got this and I’m so brave makes me feel like I can’t break down.”

Exactly.

When I took a six-week hiatus from teaching, back in February and March, I stepped back and let it all drop. I let myself break down. I went against everything that people think of me, and I let myself be what I was at that time – full of grief and rage, depleted, scared, confused. And last week, I stepped forward and said no, I thought I could do this, but I can’t, and it’s okay. I have to do what’s right for me, and re-enter my life as I’m able.

Now I’m 66 in 2026, and unlike when I was 6 in 1966, I am not thinking, Well, it’s all downhill from here. I am just looking ahead, all while glancing at Michael’s photo, where it sits across the room from me.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.