I was born on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, so my mom got a little pipe-cleaner turkey on her lunch tray at the hospital. She might still have that turkey somewhere; I remember seeing it. This reminds me of how the nurses in the cardiac intensive care unit hung up little stockings against a cardboard fireplace by the nurses station, each sock with a patient's name scripted on it in glittery puffy pens. I didn't take a photo of that wall (despite it bringing a tear to my eye because it was just so thoughtful) because of course my focus last holiday season was on my dad, not on documenting the experience. But of course every image during that stressful time is engraved in my brain.

The photos of my birth were in black and white. My parents look so young. Of course they were young; they were nine and eleven years younger than I am now. But this past year has been one in which I've really seen my parents' mortality. After all, my dad's unexpected bypass surgery right after my birthday last year was a shock, even if his recovery has been fabulously successful. And then last year was also the year my mom turned the age that her mother was when she died. (My grandmother had atherosclerosis likely accelerated by her smoking.) Thankfully my mom is very healthy (and is a non-smoker, of course.)

I know I am still young, all things considered. And my parents are still healthy. But I've got to admit that birthdays are now a bit scarier than they are festive. But hey... Happy Birthday to Me!