I was following Kim. The day had purpose. The freeway in Montecito seemed scarce of other cars as we drove through the grey morning fog. Fog. I felt isolated, reflective. Today, I thought, I’m turning 60. The anvil dropped. Then, traveling further inward, “This is kind of considered the end of your life by some. Jesus.”
We were coming back after a night staying in a beautiful house perched atop the mesa in Santa Barbara. Kim had swung it for us from her vacation rental company she works to celebrate my birthday. It was lovely, the dinner, the wine, the view.
I thought about that incredible view and all the thinking I did on that balcony yesterday. Trying to stay conscious and keep it all in perspective and regard it only as a number. “But, sixty,” I thought, “Craig T. Nelson had just died on Parenthood and he was only in his early seventies! I only have ten years left!” I thought, rounding it down.
Wayne Dyer had bailed on me and I was slipping down the side of the mountain into the boiling magma below. “Damn, life is almost over! This is just not fair. It went by so fast. And, I was just getting the hang of it, too. My cell phone beeped.
I glanced at it. “Taylor.” Probably, a day early, happy birthday post, I thought. I slid the text open and read it. “Hey family! Beth saw the OB today and he thinks baby isn't low enough for us to wait much longer. We've decided to have baby tomorrow, via cesarean, at 8am. Yay! Happy birthday, dad!”
Suddenly all my doubts and fears about being an old, dying man, vanished, sliding simultaneously off the frame of my consciousness, like somebody had suddenly jerked the pegboard away they were all hanging on.
I’m going to be a Grandfather. Life’s is not over. It’s just beginning.