NOWISM

A Last and First Birthday of Its Sorts

Thinking of you and this beautiful gift of life

10 am — 2.19.24

Today I won’t hear you wish me happy birthday. For twenty-six consecutive years, you never failed to call and sing me happy birthday.

Yesterday was the first birthday I didn’t get to wish you, “Happy birthday Peg!”

You would have been ninety-four.

We were close not just by the one-day proximity of our birthdays, but by the multitude of ways our personalities meshed as our friendship grew over the years.

You were — nope— you are the mother, my dear husband needed and never had. Sure, you’re from two different ethnicities — but if any two people proved people are and can be color blind — it was both of you.

He and I spoke of you yesterday. He wished you a happy birthday. He doesn’t ever cry — but I looked in his eyes. He misses you.

For the last five years, you told me on every 18th of February, “Natalie, this is probably going to be my last birthday.”

I hated hearing it. I always found a way to dance about the subject or pretend it couldn’t — wouldn’t happen.

Turns out — last year was indeed your last birthday.

I cry tears of sorrow and joy — the unique twisted blend of my earthy emotions. And yet, I feel so rich, full of gratitude for the time I had with you.

Few individuals touch the hearts of multitudes as you did.

You brought people together. You made everyone you met feel they were your best friend. I can’t ever recall a complaint out of your mouth — even when you deserved to.

I just listened to the voicemail you left me one year and four days ago. You said you would always need me and that you just wanted to know if we were okay.

Tears stream down my cheeks.

No one leaves voicemails anymore!

You were the only one who ever called and left a voicemail every.time.

I’ll never delete that last one. It will always tickle my heart to hear your voice.

Your uncanny wit and love of life and people — permeated every conversation we had — even when your heart was in pain, missing your soul mate and best friend of over 50 years, J.

You taught me how to laugh through the pain. I knew that one day you would no longer be here, and that it would be your joy and authenticity I would yearn for.

But it’s alive and well in my heart: every word, lesson, and advice you shared — all are well preserved in my memory.

Today I begin the first day of my last year in my 40’s, Peg. I smile and I know you would tell me, “Oh Nat — there is still so much ahead. You have so much to see and live — just you wait and see!”

I know of most of the amazing adventures you had as well as the depth of the valleys you walked —including losing a son. I believe you told me, “That was and will always be the harshest of them all.”

But you embraced and loved every day of your life — doing the best with what you had.

Thank you for the transparent love you poured into our family. You will never be forgotten. I wish to honor your memory and your love through these words.

But no more tears — no more sadness! I will embrace my birthday.

I can’t help but laugh and embrace the growth behind me. I was kicking and screaming as I leaped into my 40s just 10 years ago.

What a beautiful difference 10 years can make!

The gift of another year is as bright as this morning's sun. The weight of another year and signs of aging on my face are now the dust I brush off now and then.

As I prepare to head out the door, I carry you, Peg, as well as those near and far, those I’ve met in person and virtually in my heart — grateful for this beautiful gift of life.

Seneca got it right —

“Not how long, but how well you have lived is the main thing.” — Seneca