I stupidly remembered why this birthday means more, why 35 for some crazy reason, is depressing me more than 34 did, and more than I suspect 36 will.
In exactly 9 days I'll be the same age my dad was when he passed away. Jeeeeez.
It hit me like a ton of bricks as I was falling asleep the other night. I was drifiting off, and I was thinking about my dad, and there it was. Dan Driscoll, dead at 35. It's one of those things that drifts along the edge - you can't quite reach it, but you know it's there, you know? I guess my subconsious always had a problem with turning this age, and I just had to pry it loose. And it was defintely bugging me. I mean, I don't feel old, or even old-er. I feel so normal, like I haven't even really aged in the last 5-8 years or so...So I just didn't understand my pre-occupation with 35.
But when it hit me, it really hit me. Sure, I cried a little. Anyone who knows me knows it doesn't take much for that to happen, really. It just made me so....sad. I look ahead to my life down the road, I see me and Sara, I see a kid (or kids), I see a house... I see contentment, and comfort, and LIFE. About 2-3 months after his 35th birthday, my dad first noticed the lump on the back of his head. It all went quickly downhill from there, and he was gone 9 months later. I've always wondered how I would feel in that situation - and now, at this age, with all the joy and gifts I have in this life, I wonder what it would be like for me NOW.
There is truly nothing I can do about it except embrace my birthday. Embrace my age, and embrace that number.