Today I turned 98.
That is 98 times around the burning mass that now warms my wrinkled skin. 35,770 times the sun has risen. And 35,770 times the sky has transformed from black to a mixture of orange, pink and blue.
When you turn 98 years old, each time you step out of bed and look out your window, it says much more than just a sunrise. Sunrises not only capture the rays of light, seeping into the horizon and dewdrops on the grass, but they now possess memories. They encapsulate 35,770 days, and countless lived experiences. Like that time I laid on a friend's balcony exhausted yet enthralled as the trees stretched into morning. Or when I was on the Pacific Ocean, sailing toward Hawaii, only to feel the shockwaves coming from Pearl Harbor as the boat rocked my heart back and forth. Yes, a sunrise holds much more meaning. So every morning when you carefully arise out of your bed, you’ll mark it on your mental chalkboard. You’ll learn to appreciate every sunrise, but wish it could be just that, a sunrise. But no, it is much more. Some days you wish you could pass your hand over the tallied lines, smearing the white and replace it with the pinks of her cheeks, the orange tint of her hair and the blue of her eyes. You’ll ask yourself, are you truly counting the amount of sunrises you are grateful for or simply numbering the days without her?
But today it’s my birthday. All I want to do is sit on my porch, wrap myself in her knitted blanket, and enjoy the sun. For who knows how many sunrises I’ll have left.
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