By Lori Welch Brown
I celebrated my 60th in September. It’s truly a privilege to make it to that milestone. Trust me when I say that I’ll celebrate just about anything as long as there’s cake involved. I’ve always been a big birthday person because I think people should be celebrated—and hello—cake. But it really is a big deal. Why? Because not everyone gets to sit around with their nearest and dearest and blow out candles and create memories. It is a privilege to have another trip around the sun. Sadly, I know too many people who didn’t make it to 60—and some by a long shot.
Not only did I make it to 60, but I got there being able to use my own two legs. And I could read my birthday cards and blow out my candles (well, maybe with some help—there were A LOT). I could talk to friends and hear their well wishes. I could hug them with my own two arms and take in the scent of the evening air. I am blessed beyond measure.
It’s easy to take life for granted, but I was recently reminded of how fleeting and fragile life can be as one of my sweetest, dearest, and oldest friends had the horrific happen to her on one of those random nights that people talk about. Life is zipping along, and out of the blue—BAM. You are knocked off your feet by a bitter jolt from the fairness gods. Out to dinner with friends, her body began to betray her as she raised her glass to toast. A 9-1-1 call was placed, EMTs dispatched. Tests were performed, scans taken, and a tumor detected.
To maintain her privacy, I’m only going to say that the results were far from good and a helluva long way from fair. We—her family and many, many friends—are shocked by the news and devastated. Lost. Helpless. Frustrated. Angry. Confused. A myriad of emotions have engulfed us all. Personally speaking, my faith has been on shaky ground, but this is topsy turvy world. God—have you left the building? On vacation? What is going on? I need an explanation of some kind here. I need to know what the ‘big plan’ is because, quite frankly, I think someone needs to head back to the drawing board.
Words cannot adequately describe what this human means to me—and I am but one in a sea of many. She has always answered my calls and listened—I mean really listened—when I felt sad, angry, betrayed, lonely, confused, inadequate, and scared. And that was just on any given Monday morning before coffee. Not only would she listen, but she picked me up and encouraged me to stand up and fly. She is a true role model for women—confident and comfortable in her skin. Beautiful and sexy coupled with kind and compassionate. Spiritual, and yet wicked funny. Open and transparent. Vulnerable, and yet fiercely independent. Vibrant. Strong and soft. And always, ALWAYS, fully authentic—f*bombs and all.
Of course, there is hope. We will not give that up without a fight. As long as there are breaths to take, there is hope. And, if anyone can endure what she’s about to go through with grace and grit, it’s her. She’s a fighter and has defied the odds countless times, but if anyone deserves to sit back and rest on their laurels a bit, it’s her. But…I don’t get to make the rules. I just have to play by ‘em.
So, friends, here’s what 60 years on the planet has taught me. Fair is a fiction sold to us in fairy tales and movies and books. Fair is something your prized pig wins a ribbon at in July. Fair is a skin color. Fair is something boaters hope for when crossing water ways. It is not life. Life is not fair. Some days, it is a million miles from it.
I guess at my age, I should know this by now, but it still feels challenging to accept. And yet—that’s the only real choice we have—acceptance. Accept the cards life deals us and pray like hell for a winning hand—or at least to be able to stay at the table for a few more rounds. And in the meantime, enjoy every blessed moment surrounded by all your loves.
We can’t count on life to be fair, but we can count on love. And friendship. And community. And sometimes kindness and compassion. If anything can get us through when life isn’t fair, it’s LOVE. And maybe some ice cream. And cake. Always cake.
About the Author: Lori is a local writer, painter and pet lover who loves to share her experiences and expertise with our readers. She has been penning a column for the OTC for over 25 years. Please follow Lori online on Medium for more missives like this.