Another Year Older, Another Year...

From Pinterest.com

"There's still no cure

for the common birthday."

--John Glenn

Today was my birthday, number sixty-three to be exact.  It was a quiet, mostly ordinary day.  I got up, went to work, came home and went out for Chinese, my favorite cuisine.  I had some gifts, had "Happy Birthday" sung to me by my grandkids, and now in the waning hour of this day, I am doing what I like to do when searching for thoughts that would provide context:  writing.

As kids, birthdays are a huge deal.  Parties, cake, presents, a fun day to celebrate.  As time goes on, however, those days begin to be less than a big deal, particularly when one reaches the time when adding one more day means there are fewer to come.  Everyone is mortal, or as was once said of life, "Nobody's gettin' outta here alive!"  Between birth and death, lie a few thousand days, for most of us.  We grow, we age, we gain a certain amount of wisdom and hopefully not too many regrets.  This is the essence and rhythm of life, a cycle played out billions of times.  A few people will gain great notoriety, even fame.  Most of the rest of us will lead lives that could only be described as "ordinary."  But we are all loved by somebody, a person who will feel the pain of loss at the time of our demise.  So in a sense, we are all made famous, all will be remembered even by just a few.

Knowledge grows over time, and when salted by the pain of adversity, morphs into that curiously nebulous thing called wisdom.  Old people always have opinions on everything.  We feel that if only the rest of the world would listen, all the problems will be eliminated.  But such entreaties fall on the deaf ears of those youngsters who, alas, are just as we were back then.  Arrogant, cocky, and absolutely sure that they know more than anyone else.  It is a cruel trick of time that at the point when we've gained enough information and understanding to make everything work, nothing else does.

But today I spent some time thinking about where I've gone and what I've done.



My long-suffering wife and I have raised four children, now in to their mid-to-late thirties.  From them, we've been blessed with nine grandchildren, and one more who returned to God at six months of age.  I've tried to live my life with honor, and I think I've been mostly successful.  The dreams I had in my callow youth remained there to be replaced by situations driven by the reality of life.  I've been taught much by people who have loved me, and those who have not, and I am grateful for both sets of lessons.  I even took to heart most of what was given.

I've found out that my life long I've been burdened with two learning disabilities, which help to explain much of why I struggled so much in school.  I've also discovered that my memory and ability to cognitively understand those everyday things swirling about that I used to take for granted.  I am saddened to understand that my mind will never again be what it was, or even a part of what I hoped it would be.  I can deal with sore joints, gray hair, wrinkles, and a slower pace of life.  But I mourn my mind.

In my life, I have seen the progression from a pencil and a Big Chief tablet to the electronic typewriter, to the desktop, laptop, notebook, and handheld computer.  From a time where research meant hours spent digging through dusty library bookshelves, I now have literally access to the entire universe through a device that fits in my hand.  I remember listening to Alan Shepherd's suborbital flight on the radio, and I have watched in awe as this century's space explorations have revealed images and knowledge unparalleled in history.  Medical technology and medicines are making great strides, in particular stem cells.  Having identified the protein sequence responsible for Alzheimer's and other age-related diseases of the brain, researchers are reportedly closing in on a cure.

On the negative side, American politics has become irretrievably corrupt and dishonest.  The Lie is the coin of the realm, aided and abetted by the American public which has chosen to blindly accept whatever their party tells them.  People embrace anger.  Young students die in school shootings, heavily covered by the media while in Chicago, 8,000 people are shot over two years and nobody seems to care.

But this is life; a collection of the good and the bad, the happy and the sad.  In my lifetime, I've seen plenty of both sides and have learned enough to know that nothing will change.

It is a different world from the one I was born into, and grew up in.  I understood that world. I don't understand this one.  But I  know I have fewer years ahead than behind, and at some point, my journey here will end.  There are many things I think I will miss, and many others I won't, but I have tried to live the best way I could, and I know at that moment of passing, there will be no regrets.

And that, perhaps, is the best way to go.