44

Reggie Jackson's number on the Yankees.

Five years into the "forever 39" phase of my life.

The age my mom was when I got engaged and the age I am now.

In two years, I'll be the same age my father was when a massive heart attack cut short his life and the same age my grandmother was when I was born.

I'm thinking about those people who are gone.

I'm thinking about what birthdays even mean.

This is not a significant number, but on the other hand, birthdays seem to gain significance as I get older.

I'm thinking about Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally", crying about turning forty and Billy Crystal is incredulous because she won't be forty for eight years.  I am the Meg Ryan in this scenario.

I am thinking about ice cream trucks; the miracle I thought they were when I was seven and the smelly, speeding, overpriced nuisance I think they are now.

I am thinking about how long the summer seemed when I was a kid, even as a teenager who slept away beautiful, fragrant days and how short it seems, now.

I am missing the days of homemade cards written in just-learned letters by chubby boy hands.

I am hearing that line from a Billy Joel song; a line he probably wrote on a birthday of his own:  "The good old days weren't always good; tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems".

It's comforting, in a way.

Forty four.

It's not so bad.

20+20

when I have writer's block, it helps me to reread things I have written.  And re-posting them fattens my blog.  So sue me.  :)  This is my birthday post from 2010.

Forty. It's here. Officially, I still have a few hours, as I don't turn the BIG 4 - 0 until 6:30 p.m., Eastern time. 

Some people (mostly women) say that "Life begins at Forty". Probably because by the time forty comes around, if they have children, they are in school full time and maybe one of them is old enough to sit for the others once in a while. They feel like they can have a life again. 

But, if life begins at forty, what was I doing before? I'm pretty sure I was alive when I was trekking through tiny Swiss villages, drinking beer in Germany, swimming in the Mediterranean and gazing at the baking California desert. I was alive during Midsummer on the top of the world in Finland, where the sun never set. 

I know I was alive when I crossed the finish line at the Chicago Marathon, though I felt like I wanted to die. 

I've lived long enough to see my children grow from squalling, pooping and sleeping bits of protoplasm into the funny, quirky and beautiful boys they are today. 

I've lived long enough to love and lose and love and lose again. The longer I live, the bigger my love and my loss. 

I've laughed and cried; sometimes simultaneously. I hope the next forty years bring more laughter and fewer tears; except for the happy ones...those, I want more of. 

A good ( and much younger ) friend of mine kindly pointed out some of the many people who never got to be as old as me: Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin...after I smacked him, I remembered all the ones still rocking way past forty: Bruce, Bob Dylan and Paul McCartney to name a few. 

It's not over, nor has it just begun. It's just another signpost along the way. "Amy is Forty", it reads; with an arrow pointing only one way; forward.