Turned 70 two days ago.  I have a hard time wrapping my mouth around s.e.v.e.n.t.y.!

Seems only yesterday I was 40.  The past year has been more like 10 or 15 instead of one with the cancer, my Mom dying, and now my daughter gone.  The one good thing is that the cancer is in remission.  My Mom was 92 and beginning to show signs of dementia.  Steadily getting worse every day before a stroke took her.  My daughter had struggled with terrible back trouble and fibromyalgia all leading to an addiction to pain medication.  That finally caught up with her causing a pulmonary embolism.  She would have been 50 in a few weeks.

Before I got sick I felt like I was 50 at least.  I did so much--painting, cooking, gardening, photography, and hiking.  That became impossible for almost 18 months.  Now I'm getting some of my old energy back and will get more as the chemo leaves my body.  I'm already painting and doing some cooking.  I have started planning what to put in the greenhouse that has been waiting for me.  And the raised beds that will be the beginning of my vegetable garden.  I'm excited just planning.  And I walk every day.

Every day I see renewed vibes in me.  My zest for life runs through my body.  I refused to give up when they laid the big "c" word on me.  I refuse to give up now that my heart is broken.

One thing you can say about age is that you are far wiser than you once were.  Pain, sickness, and heartbreak are easier to deal with because you have learned so many ways to deal with life.  And heartbreak can be assuaged with lovely memories.

Life gives you a chance to grow and learn.  I didn't always do that.  But now I know that all those little irritations (and a few big ones) during my life gave me knowledge to cope with the really big ones later.

We had taught our daughter and her children to never leave without a hug and saying "I love you".  Thank goodness they always did.  Now I can see my daughter giving me a kiss, a hug, and telling me she loved me.  How I wish I could have solved her problems and made her life easier.  She made her own choices.

And this afternoon as I sat reading a Mitch Albom book, I distinctly heard her call "Mom" like she had a million times.  I held my breath hoping there would be more.  And when I realized there wasn't, I cried.