Today is my birthday. While the 27th is a recurring theme of life highlights for me, sometimes my birthday has tragedy hovering around it. One of my dad's best friends died on my 12th birthday. Come to think of it, I think he was... 26. Three years ago, I was in the hospital, broken and in shock. Today, we are only two weeks worth of raw from the loss of Grandpa. Seeing my birthday card signed only by Grandma was a sock in the ribs and has left me with an ache in my spirit.
26. Young. Maybe even more awkward of an age than 16. Not young adult. Not adult adult. It seems like 25-30 is the limbo of youth. So much left but so much lived. Not the beginning, middle or end. Maybe that's why I'm half-heartedly wallowing in my rut. Something must be done.
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