52 and counting

It's my birthday today. I'm 52. I don't feel that old, if it is old, which is definitely up for debate. Actually, no, it's not - 52 isn't old, unless you're eight. Then it's old. When you're 52, it's middle aged. I plan on living to at least 104. But inside? I'm still only 34.

People are supposed to take stock of their lives every so often, and that's something I've never done. I just kinda go along, living my life and not really thinking about how far I've come, over all, or if I've done what I want. Life is supposed to be lived, not analyzed. But maybe it's time. Overall, even counting in my depression (about which more later maybe), I'm more than content - I'm actually, overall very happy.

I'm growing closer to God every year. I'm in the church I've wanted to be in for over 15 years, and four years into it, it's done more to force me to face my faith and the hard work it brings to really, really live your beliefs than anything else I've encountered in life. Learning to submit to the will of God, and to live with his will as your own is not easy, and it means facing and dealing with things and people in ways that you might not exactly want to. And God, the angels and saints, the whole spiritual world are more real to me than they ever have been. I am learning to see God everywhere, and in everything. His mercy and grace are everywhere and through everything.

I'm in a 24 year marriage and it's working. It will continue to work. More on that tomorrow, since our anniversary is then, and I want to reflect on that, too.

Out of that marriage, we've produced two almost grown up children. While we carp and complain and moan about them almost constantly, they are people I am very proud to know, and who are good, moral, responsible people with good senses of humour. I'm not sure how it happened, because I've never considered myself a stellar mother, and Al is very much his father's father when it came to parenting. Not that Harry was a bad dad, but he was a dad of his age - which was the 40's and 50's (he was almost 60 when Al was born). Very removed, very distant, very hands off in a lot of ways, and very demanding, with not a lot of praise. For the example he's had in front of him, Al's improved on the model significantly. However, with the way the kids are turning out, the verdict is almost in, and I think we were better at the job than we ever gave ourselves credit for being.

I've found the daughter I gave up for adoption almost 30 years ago, and discovered that not only was I already a grandmother, I became a grandmother to two shortly after we reconnected. We're in the slow process of getting to know each other by long distance - she lives back east, while I'm out on the west coast of Canada. My brother and I have finally figured out how to talk for more than three minutes without fighting. This is a major achievement, and it took a lot of years of maturing on both our parts, and a long estrangement to get there - but I am so happy that I once again have a brother - and one that I'm proud of.

I have a few terrific, life long, supportive friends. Friends of the right hand. Sisters and brothers of the heart. People who have known me most of my life, who know both the worst and the best about me, and love me because of the best and in spite of the worst. I have a huge family of choice - people whom I love and who love me, who are there for me, who bring out the best in me, and enclose me in their warmth and regard. That means a huge amount to someone who's felt out in the cold most of her life.

I'm a published children's writer. What's more, I'm published in the place I've wanted to be since I started writing - Canadian children's lit. It's taken over 20 years, but I finally did it. And I've been described as a "gifted writer". That compliment, from a couple of editors at Conciliar Press, one with whom I've worked, and one with whom I haven't, means a huge amount to me. I'm not sure it's true. Or maybe I'm not sure I trust myself enough to actually believe it. I would love to be a gifted writer, but to think of myself in those terms is a temptation to rest on my laurels (which aren't nearly thick enough to be comfortable yet! ) and not keep striving to get better. It's a temptation to pride, too, and I have enough problems with pride now. I don't need it mucking up my writing. I am much more comfortable just putting the words down, and thinking about how to do my job, without worrying about things like "art", "Literature" or "gifted." I am, first and foremost, a craftsman (person) (I hate inclusive language). Art and literature can come out of craft, definitely, but to think of myself as an artist or a gifted writer is not what will benefit my gift, or help me to increase my talents. But it feels good just the same.

Most important, I think, is that I finally accept myself. In the words of today's educational jargon, I finally have a decent self-image. It's taken most of my adult life to get to this point, but considering where I started, which was with a self-image lower than the sewers, that's a remarkable accomplishment. I am, after all these years, my own person. That was my dad's highest compliment, and the one single thing I do regret is that he's not here to celebrate it with me. (That, by the way, is the cause of the depression - he died twenty years ago on June 7, and it's hurting again.)

I have been blessed beyond measure - I have a life and a contentment that not many people are given, and it's a gift beyond price and beyond measure, and I have paid my dues for it. I'm not arrogant about that (at least I hope I'm not), I'm grateful and happy that the price hasn't been higher, and for fewer blessings. I hope I can help give someone else the blessings that I've been given.

Glory to God for the life I have, and the blessings He's given me, and the tools he's given me to earn some of those blessings. Glory to God for the gifts he's showered on me, that I never earned and never expected. Glory to God for his unending love for and belief in me. Glory to God for all things.