Fifty

Fifty years is a very short amount of time when you think about the age of the earth or the water markings along the Grand Canyon, representing centuries of erosion.

Fifty years is a very long time when you think about the hourly and daily struggle of caring for people in your life. The littles and the bigs, the needy and the blessed.

Fifty years can feel like an eternity when you consider the minutes invested in meals bought, made, served, brought, and all the dishes that pile up after.

Mathematically speaking, fifty is just a number, one more than forty-nine, one less than fifty-one, five multiples of ten, and one hundred divided in half.

Metaphorically speaking, it’s a milestone, a hill you’ve summited, as you overlook the valley on both sides.

Truthfully, it is just the sum of the number of years you have lived. Your precious, beautiful life compiled into a five letter “F” word.

Fifty once sounded old. Soon enough, it will sound young. No matter. You are so much more than a number. You are the gift we all unwrap every time we see you.

It is not the years that must be celebrated, but the person. The priceless, loving woman, faithfully asking, “What can I do to help?” and “How can we bring ourselves together in peace?”

For half of your fifty years, I’ve increasingly loved and appreciated you, the dearest role model of kind inclusiveness, of striving to learn and understand.

Happy Birthday Dear Friend. I love you from fifty to infinity.