Five-Ohhhhh.

"I have such a strong feeling that this is your year..."

Yesterday I turned 50.

When I was a kid, 50 seemed like such an ancient number - something so far in the future that I never thought it would happen to me, but here we are.

It was my second birthday without Sean.  My 13th birthday celebrated without my mom.

That both of those things happen is still surreal.

But life keeps moving forward.

In the last week I've thought a lot about turning 50, moving forward, living life.

I thought about living in a new place one day - a new home or a new state.

I thought about relationships - how so many of mine have been in my life for so long, and some have been new and fresh and a welcomed addition to my world.

I've thought about my family and my framily (those friends that step over the friend line into family territory), and how lucky I am to have such incredible members of both.

I've thought about the people in my life that have become more prevalent and important, and those that have faded away because sometimes that happens in life, and funny enough, I felt no anger, no ill will, just grateful that they were a part of my life for the time they were.

I thought abut retiring - which I can officially do in exactly 5 years (and I plan on doing just that).

I've thought about Mom and wondered what she would think of all that has happened in my world since the last decade of my life began.

I've thought about Sean, because he's never far from my mind. I've wondered (in my head and out loud at times) what he thinks of everything that's occurred since he closed his eyes that final time on that Monday in September.

I've even thought about the evil grey hairs that are starting to creep into my eyebrows - and how I have a love/hate relationship with them.

But yesterday, while spending time hunting through record bins at Sound Exchange on Rt 23 in Wayne (because it was Record Store Day), siting in the chair at the salon (because grey hair, a Scrittorale family gift that begins very early in life, merits a visit every 4 weeks or so, otherwise I look like a sparkly Pepe Le Pew), buying a new matching set of sexyish undies (because every 50 year old deserves to have some even if they just feel like wearing it under their flannel shirt and leggings), snuggling with the pup during a quick nap, and having dinner with my sister, brother in law and friend, I thought about the first line of this post.  It came from one my favorite framily members.  She sent it to me as I was in the car, on the hunt for the picture disc RSD release of Head on the Door by The Cure (which, I managed to find, along with all the other RSD releases on my list, and few others that happened to jump into my arms as I was waiting to check out - my heart was thrilled, my credit card will probably not be as happy.)

"this is your year".

You know when you have a feeling and you can't figure out what's causing it?  I'm talking about that feeling in your belly - sometimes goosebumps on your arms -  and you can't explain why?

I've had that feeling for a while.

And maybe my framily is right.  Maybe this is my year.  For what, I'm not quite sure, but I have that feeling, too.

Yesterday I posted in one of my widow groups, how the first year after Sean died, I was angry and in pain.  How I would read posts by women mourning their lost love of 20, 30, 40+ years and how I was jealous of the time they had together.  But the last seven months it occurred to me how lucky I was - because, though our story wasn't nearly long enough, it was full of wonderful memories and moments, and that I no longer look at it as mourning a lost love and an unfinished future, but celebrate one that I was incredibly grateful to experience - especially when some people will never know that kind of love.  I thought it would be met with negative comments, but I was surprised at how many women appreciated my honesty, my attitude, my perspective and supported me in my thoughts - one even commented how we should all be more like a warrior and less like a victim.

Friday night, very late, before bed, in my kitchen, I danced away my 40s.  

Donna Summer's Last Dance played throughout my house and, I (in my underwear, because there's no better way to do it) and Lexi (naked - as she is a puppy nudist), danced and sang and jumped.  We celebrated (more me than her) the end of one decade and the beginning of another.  We celebrated an incredibly full 4 decades of life.  We celebrated amazing people and an imperfectly perfect love story.

And we welcomed 50.

Yesterday morning, we did it again, but this time to Nina Simone.

Because it's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me...

And it feels good.

50 feels good.