The ‘fullness of life’ is a perfect time for healthy introspection

How apropos my birthday this year falls on Thanksgiving Day. I get to share a holiday as grand as Thanksgiving with those I love the most. Unbelievable that it’s been two years since my family and friends came together to help me usher in another decade, but here we are.

When we reach a certain age, there should be some healthy introspection.

Looking back over the decades of life, I’m struck by how the long and winding road of life’s journey makes more sense in the rear-view mirror than it did in the moment. Years ago, if a fortune teller had looked into a crystal ball and told me I’d end up living in Jamesport on the North Fork, I would have asked for a refund. Yet, here I am living in “Paradise Found” for 22 years and counting.

I see my life as a series of stepping stones, the path that took me from there to here —physically, spiritually and emotionally.

One of the stepping stones was my idealistic, full-of-dreams young self. Love knocked and interrupted those dreams. I married at 19. Just to be clear: I did not “have to”—gotcha! Seriously folks, who does that today?

I see those years as the golden years, husband, sons, hard work, much gaiety, and plenty of challenges. With the unwavering support of my husband, I enrolled in an evening nursing program. While my sons were in school, I took a part-time position as a church secretary. Although it was quite a slog, we worked together as a team—not the “dream team,” but damn near close.

Those were the times when I could put my idealistic self to work. Women were rejecting the “stand by your man” notion, as well as their bras. For the record: I was never a bra-burner, nor would I stand by a man if he did me dirty. However, with my eyes wide open, I saw women’s inequality and it burned into my soul. I became a life-long feminist.

Another dream-breaker: “Till death do us part” came too soon. I was widowed young. I slipped off that stepping stone into the mire of muddy, dark grief. Gone were the golden days. I was left to pull myself out. In retrospect, had I not been ambitious and gone to school, would I have been equipped to support myself and my sons?

I was muddied, but I was back on my path of slippery stepping stones. In retrospect, I see that gifts were given to me throughout those years. They were hard to recognize as they did not come in pretty wrappings. I saw an ad in our local newspaper on Staten Island. They were looking for slice-of-life short stories. Without expectation, I authored a story about my sons leaving for college. It was accepted. And bonus! I was hired to write a column once a month called “The Woman’s Forum.”

While I was slipping and sliding along on my path of stones, a surprise gift. This one looked unexpectedly good to me. He came as a tall, bearded, blue sports coat-gray pants type. Sweet Frank was seated across from me at a wedding I’d been forced (by my sister) to attend.

The song was Sweet Caroline. He asked me to dance, and the rest is history. Frank showed me Paradise Found (much less crowded) and I fell in love with both Sweet Frank and Jamesport.

Those were joyful Sweet Caroline days, but ended in six short years. Sweet Frank was diagnosed with a rare fatal illness. I suppose he met George in Heaven. This time I went down hard, without the hope of ascending. Life was too hard. I will spare you the gory details, but eventually, with help from family, friends, and grief counseling, I started to pull myself out of the dark murky waters.

Standing on an unsteady stone, I returned to a different life. I resumed working — which became my anchor. I became the merry/busy widow—if there is such a thing. I threw myself into projects and travel. I made new friends, studied photography and spent countless hours during COVID walking along trails and beaches.

I started dating. What a trip at a certain age! ! Some of my dates were forgettable; some were not. A betrayal blew me away; but in retrospect his betrayal was a gift.

And just when I thought it wouldn’t happen, I became “Ammie” (grandma) at an age when most grandparents are seeing their grandkids off to college. Nova and Luca remain the gifts that keep on giving unconditional love and joy.

Like most of you, my life has been a series of love, loss, adjustments and readjustments. But would I change anything? Nope! I willfully turned those mud-spattered dark days into learning experiences.

• I just say “no.”
• I do not care who approves or disapproves of me. I am old enough to dress as I please. Some 20-something telling me to dress my age is laughable.
• Speaking of laughing, I find humor in mundane circumstances.
• When someone 30-something asks: “How are we today?” I look around for the “we!”
• Many folks are fighting their own battles we have no knowledge of.
• Gut–wrenching loss is part of the human condition.
• Life is full of surprises.
• Elections don’t always go the way we want.

I am still navigating the slippery stepping stones, and of course, I am uncertain where they will lead. This birthday, I feel grateful for all I have while also feeling sorrow for all I have lost.

Strange bedfellows, eh? Maybe. But folks, it’s the fullness of life.