Birthdays have always been my favourite day of the year. It’s a celebration of life, and it’s a reminder of how fleeting and precious all of this is. Birthdays used to come at the end of a slow walk around the sun. Now I leap and run and cartwheel and fly. Life gets faster. But it also gets better.
Perhaps the reason we receive gifts on our birthday is because on our very, very first one on earth, we received the first and the most wonderful gift we could be given – life.
And so every year we try to recreate that with beautiful things from the people who love us. To remind us that this is what life is. That this is what all of this is. A gift.
We don’t know how many birthdays we are going to get, we only know how much we have been given.
And so sometimes, birthdays remind me of death.
Because I know a little girl who never had one. Not a real one.
And I know another little girl who has had 3.
I know a kind man who loves me, and he has had 36.
And today I am home to a sweet little soul who’s birthday is being created and stitched into the fabric of life and the universe.
Today is my birthday, but I’m dreaming about yours.
Ps. This is the reason behind total lack of posting on my beloved blog; I’ve been so sick – it has been dreadful!