I didn’t realize how fast time is flying by, because it’s been nearly three weeks since my last blog post.  I haven’t been writing these past few weeks, not so much due to being busy with day-to-day living, but due to the heavy celebrating that has been going on during this most, beautiful month of October.  Selfishly, most of the celebrating has revolved around a milestone birthday that has been bestowed upon me.

I really didn’t prepare myself much for this occasion, because I was too busy living life as a ‘49er, never thinking much about the fact that eventually it would be my turn to actually have a birthday.  Most of my high school friends already hit their 50th birthday's throughout this past year.  Growing up with an October 17th birthday, I was always the youngest amongst my peers: the last to turn 16, the last to turn 18, and more important, the last to turn 21. I was always so bummed that everyone in my grade was older than me, hitting the "fun" birthdays before me. Heck, I was only 17 when I went to college!  Yet as I got older and those “fun” birthdays came and went, I was glad that I was the younger one.  It gave me a chance to see how my friends handled hitting their milestone birthdays' (30, 40, and 50), and allowed my brain a chance to prepare itself for the fact that I was that much further from the cradle.

As each of them hit 50, one thing that I noticed (on Facebook and in person) over and over, was that no one was freaking out. No one cried. No one had sad face. No one complained.  Everyone smiled, and took their birthdays in stride. I was hoping that I would do the same. I remember my Grandpa Rudy telling me once that he thought the best age to be is 55! I asked him why, and he said because at 55 you are young enough to enjoy life, and old enough not to care what others think or say.  So 50? No biggie, right? I still have 5 more years before I am supposed to have the best year of my life!

A few weeks before my actual birthday, a group of my closest friends treated me to a wonderful birthday weekend in San Francisco. They kept all the events a secret until each event unfolded. I was made to feel like a princess with flowers, presents, dinners, cocktails, a champagne cruise, Beach Blanket Babylon, a tiara, sash, and gold shoes. I had a blast, and without a doubt had one of the best times of my life.  I laughed all weekend and came home tired and with a hangover, but with a refreshed soul and memories to last a lifetime.  Yet, during all of the celebrating, I really didn't feel like I was turning “50” because I still had two weeks to go. For me it just felt like one gigantic party and I was at center stage!

A few years ago before the accident, Vaughn and I talked about my 50th birthday and our 20th wedding anniversary, which took place in 2013. We decided that we would combine the two big events into one and take a trip back to Italy to revisit Venice, my absolute favorite city in the whole wide world. But unfortunately that trip wasn't to be, at least not this year. Although it is my dream to get back to the city of love and romance, it will be postponed until Vaughn is ready.  That day will come. That is our hope and dream, anyways!

In keeping with the spirit of Venice, I was lucky enough to spend my actual birthday and the days to follow, at The Venetian in Las Vegas with Vaughn and Jenelle (Understandably, our son Kyle couldn't make it due to midterms and college). Though The Venetian wasn't the real thing, it was close enough, and all that mattered was that we were together.

I decided that I would squeeze every last ounce out of being 49, and every ounce out of the actual birthday itself.  One hour before the clock struck 12:00, Vaughn, Jenelle and I went down to the casino area. I figured that if I was going to hit the jackpot, now would be the time. I played a few slots ($20 worth) but unfortunately it took a grand total of 10 minutes for the machines to chew up my money. I wasn't really into playing the machines, and didn't feel like playing cards at $15/hand minimum either. All I wanted to do was be with my family and toast to the passing of the decade. 

Ten minutes before the hour, and on our approach up to the casino bar to order a “birthday shot”, I had a funny feeling come over me. It was the first time I actually felt nervous to be turning 50. I didn’t know what I was afraid of.  Perhaps turning 50 meant that I was actually that much closer to the end. I was already half-way there if I was to live to 100.  That thought scared me. I didn’t want to be on the back end or the tail end of anything…who wants to be there?

I didn’t have time to think about it much longer, because the shot was in front of me and I didn’t want to waste any more time being scared about the inevitable. One minute before the clock struck 12:00, I stood at the bar with my daughter and husband there to watch me drink the “birthday” shot, which actually seemed double in size.  I spent the last minute nervously shaking my leg as if I was about to jump out of an airplane, and honestly I don’t know what I was nervous about. Big deal that I was turning 50.  My friends did it. My husband did it, as did my sister, my brothers, and my parents.  They all survived and are all doing just fine.

Jenelle and Vaughn did the count-down, and when the clock struck 12:00am on October 17th, I downed the shot and decided that all I really could do was to embrace this time in my life, to love it, and most importantly to live it!

When I was finished with the shot and they were done saying “Happy Birthday”, we walked back through the casino towards our room. Vaughn asked if I wanted to play some more machines.  No…I don’t need to play anymore.  I already hit the Jackpot.  I have wonderful friends; incredible parents & siblings; and a husband, son, and daughter, I love more than life itself.  So here’s to being 50…May it be all that it can be, and much more!

XXXOOO

Denise

It was just over  a week ago that our twenty-year old son, Kyle left to start his Junior year at UC Santa Barbara, a college that is located on the beautiful Pacific Ocean, in sunny Southern California.  The beauty of this college town-including the people who are happy to attend there- has taken the sting out of saying, “Goodbye Son” each late September these past few years.

Before the accident, in the summer of 2012,  Vaughn and I talked a lot about the day we were going to drop Kyle off at school for the start of his freshman year. We knew it was going to be tough.  I kept reviewing in my head how I thought it all was going to play out:  

•  I figured that in the month before his departure, Kyle and I would hit the Mall several times to shop for clothes, bedding, and any other item necessary for dorm living. We would go from linen store to linen store looking for the right-colored bedspread with matching sheets and pillows. 
  
•  I would take him out to lunch once-a-week, and have long conversations about college life.
  
•  We suspected he needed glasses for long-distance reading in lecture halls, and he would be evaluated by our town's most reputable ophthalmologist. 
• When it would be time to leave, the family would drive down to Santa Barbara a few days early, hang out on the beach, and  go out to a few dinners.   We would help unload his stuff and help carry it to his dorm room.
•  I had visions of making his bed like they do at hotels, with the corners tucked neatly under the mattress and the bedspread folded back, adorned with many pillows of various shapes and sizes. 
•  We would exchange hugs, I would cry, and we (the proud parents) would walk away with bittersweet feelings--excited for him, but sad to say good-bye.  
  

But as you might expect, the send-off (as well as the month of prep before-hand) went nothing as expected due to the aftermath of the accident, and the enormous amount of energy that was re-directed to coping with our situation...

• The five days of shopping I envisioned to get Kyle fully armed for college, was pared down to less than two hours while we waited for his eyeglass prescription to be processed from a Lens Crafter located at the Mall closest to the hospital.  
• As for all those lunches? We had ONE---at a local deli, and it wasn't the lunch that should have been---one where I talk to him about how much I loved him and how proud I was of all that he accomplished to date.  Instead it was a lunch filled with tears, sadness, and feelings of guilt that I wasn't giving my son the proper attention he so earned and deserved. 
• As for the 3 day adventure to Santa Barbara we had slated for my family? It wasn't to be...
  

Yet, the “Goodbye” that we had to settle for-one that was unconventional and did not go according to plan-turned out to be one of the most love-filled, and heartbreaking moments I will never forget..

It was Sunday, September 23rd, 2012... the day after my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary as well as the party they threw to celebrate their special occasion with all of their family and good friends.  They were all there except for one important person: Vaughn, who unfortunately missed out because he was still in the hospital.

So there we stood---our family of four--- in Vaughn’s hospital room, squeezing out every last moment of being together before I (with the company of Jenelle) would drive Kyle down to Santa Barbara to start college. Eventually the clock struck 11:00 am-the time we had to leave.We strung out the morning as long as we could and when we couldn't stretch it any longer, Jenelle and I took turns giving Vaughn our hugs and kisses. We went first, because we would be back the next day.  I was dreading this moment, not so much for me, because I had at least 8 more hours to be with Kyle, but more-so for Vaughn. I ached for him thinking about the emptiness he would feel when we left.  I figured that this would be yet another sad day in our version of a “series of unfortunate events.”

Finally it was Kyle’s turn, and the last to say “goodbye.”  I knew Vaughn was savoring every last minute with his son, for it would be until Thanksgiving before he would see him again.  It wouldn't be the goodbye that Vaughn always talked about. It would be much different.  Instead of Vaughn fulfilling his vision of being the Dad who helped his son carry his things to his dorm room, he would lay helplessly in bed, dreams dashed, left to watch his family leave without him.

Kyle inched up to the side of the hospital bed, reached out and placed his hand inside Vaughn’s hand, which at this point in his recovery hadn't moved since the accident. There was silence and a quiet connection between the two of them.

Given the moment and all the surrounding circumstances that were soiling Vaughn’s dream, I expected Vaughn to break down and cry, and Kyle to console him, and tell him, "It's okay Dad.”  But that’s not what happened…

Even in the face of incredible sadness, Vaughn stepped up and pulled through like a champ. He  showed incredible strength and courage. He said all the things he wanted to say in a voice that was so comforting and reassuring. He let Kyle know how proud he was of him. He also gave sage advice about taking advantage of the four years ahead, to continue to make good choices, and to set himself up nicely for his future.  He didn't leave anything unsaid, and said everything he had to say with the most loving look on his face...no tears, only strength.

 I sat back with tears rolling down my face, because I was so proud of my husband.  Although he wasn't on the sands of Santa Barbara saying goodbye to Kyle,  he was able to embrace the moment and deliver one of the most heart-felt speeches of his life.
  
Kyle stood there, lip quivering, with tears rolling down his cheek. He bent over and hugged Vaughn for a long embrace and told him, “I will make you proud Dad, like you already have for me.”

At that very moment, the uncertainty that I had built up in my head---that my child’s love and comfort had some how been damaged by the accident and all the craziness that followed---assuaged my concerns.  I knew that if anything, the love we have for him and him for us was solid, and that the bond we had developed over all of these 18 years could not be broken by one untimely wave.

As painful as that moment was, we had to leave and let our son go. We hoped he would thrive and do well, and without a doubt he has done that, and even more.

And now, when Kyle is asked how he feels just before he leaves back to college, he always says,
 “It’s bittersweet... I’m excited to go, but sad to leave.”