Anniversaries

There are anniversaries, and there are anniversaries.  We celebrate them in our own way, with parties for birthdays and dinners for weddings, flowers for the day we met. Some are more important than others.

Today is one year since I had open heart surgery.  A very important anniversary.

I have changed once again.

Just when I got to the point where I thought I knew myself, I don't.

When I thought I had become whole, I haven't.

Illness has a way of changing us. We look at life differently. Age (while I still have trouble accepting that I am sixty-two) isn't as important as getting older (we get older or we don't). Each day becomes a celebration. We have survived. Consequences seem, well, inconsequential.

When I began my journey to my inner self, I made a bucket list. Some things I've done, some I have not. Some I have given up, some are still at the front of my brain. The wishes and dreams that confront me daily are the ones I will likely accomplish.

I regret wasted years and wasted dreams. I would so like to turn back the clock to when I was young and do some things very differently.

I still want to go out on a sailboat ride, and float across the sky in a hot air balloon. I want to fly to Las Vegas again, and play the horses at the Downs. I want to watch a regatta, and the submarine races. I have much to say, and I want to be heard.

I want a puppy someday, when Steve is ready and I can't stand being alone anymore. (No, I do not want a cat!)

I want to be busy, not with meetings and doctor appointments, but with special people. I want lots of hugs, tons of fun and a bit of notoriety.

I want to dance on the beach, barefoot, with the waves lapping at my feet. I want to see Belize, or Tahiti, or even the Virgin Islands. I want to stay in a five-star hotel and drink champagne.

I know, it sounds selfish and materialistic, but I have been given a chance to live again--and I don't want to waste a single moment!

Most of all, I want to celebrate being alive for another year, and I give thanks to God for that opportunity.

A toast--to many more anniversaries!

Good-bye, My Friend

My Rocco is gone. 

I loved that furry critter.

He had a stroke sometime in January. My gentle boy was no longer gentle. He wouldn't be touched without growling. He was limping.

The day he bit me was totally out of character. He was no longer my gentle friend.

The old Rocco would press his foot against my husband's hand, and stay for a long time. Rocco would lay his hundred pound body on Hubby's lap, or lay his head on me when I'd tell him it was "mommy love time".

We knew it was time for him to go...but it's so hard!

It isn't the same house without him.

Good-bye, my friend. You were well-loved.