As I reflect on the journey to my 50th birthday, I want to hold onto every moment. This past year, I clung to 49, treating it like a lifeline, but time, as always, has a way of moving forward, and now I’m officially on the other side of the hill.
What truly matters to me are those celebrations shared with loved ones. I want to cherish the feeling of blowing out those candles and the wishes I made in that fleeting moment. Most importantly, I want to remember my children as they are today.
I think about my eldest, Jake, who is 21 and about to enter his senior year of college. He’s grown so much, having spent a semester exploring Europe, yet he still sends me those sweet texts that remind me of his boyish charm. Then there’s my daughter, Lily, at 19, completing her first year of college. She’s intelligent and witty, still needing me just a bit—especially when it comes to packing up her dorm room for the summer. And finally, my youngest, Max, who is 17—the last of the flock still at home. He’s thriving, enjoying his junior year, and sharing joyful moments with his siblings as they navigate life together.
Yet, I know I’ll likely forget many of these perfect instances. Memories tend to slip through our fingers like sand, and I can’t recall how my kids were when I turned 40 or even 45. Memory is a curious thing—it’s unpredictable and selective.
What determines which memories linger and which fade? Why do some moments remain crystal clear while others dissolve like an old film reel? I find myself an impressionist when it comes to memory. Don’t ask me for specific years or ages; I might need to dig into their baby books to jog my recollection.
However, there are certain experiences that are etched in my mind, especially when triggered by a scent, a melody, or even a dream. Recently, while busy in the springtime bustle between the kitchen and laundry room, a song transported me back to a long-ago family trip to Brittany. I could almost see my kids at 6, 4, and 2. I remembered my husband, gathering Polly Pockets from the airplane floor, the five of us sharing baguette crumbs with pigeons at a train station, climbing Montmartre, and laughing at lions in a palace zoo. Even the taste of fish grilled over an open fire at a harbor cafe came rushing back. As the song faded, I landed back in my kitchen, 50 years old, with my children at 21, 19, and 17.
What memories do my kids carry from that trip? It’s hard to know. We shared those experiences but viewed them through different lenses. Jake even created a playlist for my birthday that included that very song, linking us in a way that’s hard to explain.
As I prepare to step into the next chapter of my life, I am eager to create new memories with my family. I realize that our adventures may become less frequent, and while I can’t freeze time, I hope to give my kids experiences that, when the right song plays, will whisk them back to moments when we were all together. It’s almost like a lifeline.
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In summary, as I navigate the waters of midlife, I cherish the memories made and look forward to creating more with my family, knowing that while time marches on, the bonds we share will always bring us back together.
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