On the morning of his 60th birthday, my husband made me breakfast in bed.
I had suggested a million different ways to celebrate the milestone. Bucks game? Big party with lots of friends and family? Small dinner party?
He declined them all. He wanted to spend a quiet weekend at our cabin and then have a small party with an “army man cake” when all of our boys are available on Tuesday.
So, that’s what we did, and what we’ll do.
We walked in the woods, admired the fattest moon we’d seen in a while, and bought a round for the good and random people gathered at Take A Chance in Advance, Wisconsin’s best kept secret for the world’s finest Bloody Mary’s.
If I could have, I would have filled that bar with all of Vince’s favorite people — his dignified father with the puckish wit, his game mother with the ready laugh, Pretty Nurse Karen, our heroic college friend, the gregarious Joe, who flung open the door to any establishment and made all of its patrons his friends, and so many others who have passed on.
You don’t reach your seventh decade on this old planet without suffering some loss and, fortunately, gaining some perspective.
So, we move forward with joy for the opportunities we have, gratitude for the people we love and anticipation for the experiences that lie ahead.
We recognize and celebrate the precious gift of time and work to preserve its twin favor of good health.
And, on the morning in between his low key birthday and unconventional little party, I am grateful for the gift of Vince.
