“As long as there’s more good than bad, it’s a great life.” ~ CL Canady

 

My father just turned 75.

Aging and the transition to retirement have been tough for him and he’s been working to find his “new normal.”

He has been in denial about his true age for the last 10 years, and this year, he refused to acknowledge his birthday at all.

We are all aging. Good health and longevity are promised to no one. A childhood friend’s mother is dying of lung cancer as I type. My uncle—my father’s younger brother—recently underwent quintuple bypass surgery, and almost died in recovery when his blood refused to clot because of the blood thinners he’d been on for years. His youngest brother died nine years ago at the tender age of 54.

Somewhere in the busy-ness of life, my father lost track of the fact that life is the most important gift we are ever given.

So in this spirit, I drove to his house with the cake he said he didn’t want, a bottle of champagne to toast the birthday he refused to acknowledge, and sing the song he didn’t want to hear.

Finally, I read these words that I’d written for him.

With his permission (and insistence), I share my letter to him with you, with the hope that it can be a wake-up call to you or someone you love:

I was thinking a lot this week about life. I’ve had a tendency to look at life in chunks of 25—quarters, rather than thirds or halves. 

25 was a hard one for me. I didn’t like being a quarter century old. I felt like I had not accomplished anything.

You, on the other hand, put yourself through college, started a family, lost a child, and started your first business.

50 was a fun one for me. I am proud of my life, what I have done, what I have accomplished, and my children. I remember your 50th birthday party. You were disappointed that none of the folks from the Cape came up to your party. However, even without them, I remember we had a great day with your friends and your sister.

The next logical quarter to look toward is 75. Where you are.

Thinking about your Big Quarter birthday, I decided to do a little research. Did you know that only 78 percent of men born in 1941 are still alive? Nearly 1/4 of the men born the same year as you have already walked across the rainbow bridge.

If there were a way to ask them, I would be willing to bet that 100 percent of them would say that they wished they could be celebrating their 75th birthday.

As I am getting older, life feels more precious, and I am grateful that you are here. That you are one of the 78 percent. That we can stand here with this glass of champagne and this cake, and celebrate the fact that you have circled the sun 75 times.

So far, you have had a pretty amazing life. You put yourself through school, you’ve created several successful businesses, you raised three great kids. You have positively influenced and help raise two more great kids, you have six grandchildren who love you, and you have an absolutely amazing wife who adores you.

Because of you, I have always believed that I could do anything that I want to do, and accomplish anything that I want to accomplish. All I have to do is decide to do it. And I am eternally grateful for that. In addition, your influence has influenced how I parent my children. I want them to believe the exact same thing.

So let’s stop saying that you’re 59—not just because your daughter is 51 and it’s getting creepy—let’s own 75. This is your year. This is your amazing life. You are dancing on the grass, rather than looking up at it from below. You have beaten cancer. You have survived one brother. You almost lost another brother last week. Life is an amazing gift. And in honor of this gift, I’m raising my glass to you. To your birthday. And toast to another quarter filled with love, joy, family, and new adventures. Celebrating however you chose to paint the canvas of your life from this point forward.

You have had an absolutely amazing life so far. I can’t wait to see what you do with the next 25 years!

I love you. Happy birthday.”

Honor and cherish your journey—we are just given this one life to live. Even if reincarnation is possible, we will never live exactly this way again.

I raise my glass and offer a toast. To owning our lives!

 

 

Author: Kendra Hackett 

Image: author’s own

Editor: Renée Picard