This week another birthday arrived. Thank you, God.

To be sure, birthdays are for celebration. But as more of them stack up under me, I find them not just reassuring – hey, I’m still here – but a time for reflection.

Often, when I think back, it is to everyday happenings like: “I do understand you have the flu, but what’s for dinner?” or “Mom, the doctor can sew this up … right?”

Yup, all those small moments, and thousands more, add up to a lifetime. This year, I am more reflective than usual. Looking back, I am stunned by the changes that each decade produced.

From my first ten years, Mom told me I was the perfect baby – beautiful, smart, and happy. I accepted her highly prejudiced account because there were no corroborating witnesses.

But my personal earliest memories were images of our small farm of goats, chickens and my beloved collie, Timmy.

The memories saddened at age four. Our family split and my mother and I moved to an apartment. I guess my mind always stops, and hovers over that division as the beginning of a new, uncertain path. Eventually, with a mother made of tempered steel, happiness mostly filled that dark hole. Together we grew, and yet each of us learned, separately, how important independence was to our survival. Ages nine and ten arrived with early responsibilities.

Challenging times.

My teenage years were school, sports, first jobs, and helping Mom, who always balanced two jobs. In retrospect, my desperation for acceptance was probably normal. At 17, I decided, “I’m outta here!” Going alone toward a new life was a leap of faith. College began my tutelage into adulthood.

The 20s? OMG. When I think back, it’s often to the fun and craziness of my 20s. And they seem a lot tamer than today’s version. New York City living, exciting airline job, meeting new loves, learning life’s refinements, exposures to countries, cultures, the list could go on ….

The prevailing take on my twenties: newness and laughter. And whoa … marriage.

Then, in my 30s, the true beginning of adulthood, a more sober life. No, we didn’t totally abstain from drinking, we just realized that children were the ultimate responsibility. I’ll never forget Tom’s father saying to me after our son’s baptism, “Hang on to these memories. These are the happiest years of your life.” They were wonderful times. The 30s were creating, building, fun.

The 40s were more so. But why did we suddenly sound older? We didn’t feel much different. It just sounded different. At my surprise 40th birthday party, I was thrilled wearing my new, skinny 4-inch heels. A 20-something sat down beside me and noticed them. “What beautiful shoes!” she said. “I didn’t think women your age wore heels like that.” Obviously, it stuck with me. As did the other part of the 40s – lost mittens, midnight barfing, flute music, skateboards, and drivers tests.

The 50s seemed hard-working but forward-looking. College for the kids. Packing and repacking the station wagon followed by long drives to campuses, culminating in oh-so-proud graduations. Then, mid-life career changes, and at the end of the decade, our daughter’s marriage to a man I couldn’t have picked better myself. Oh, the joy of that.

And then suddenly, 60?!?! Holy support stockings! This can’t be happening. But it did.

The most tumultuous decade for me. It looked like life was settling in comfortably – a downsized home, gardens, a son finally home from Iraq, and wonder of wonders, grandchildren. Then, DISASTER. A terminal prognosis, a gut-wrenching year, and a final goodbye to my life’s other half. My roller coaster decade, turned upside down. Then as life does, it rounded another corner.

My 70s began yet another era: one last professional challenge that extended 12 years beyond retirement age; a man who comfortably entered my life, and another new start – remarriage.

Watching grandchildren grow from a distance was frustrating. Adding miles on the highways and on JetBlue was the cost for hugs and soccer games.

In my mid-70s, my mother died, and I’ve continued to reflect on some of her last words. She spoke of her greatest possession – her joy – before she passed at 98.

And now, to still be here, cognizant and productive, despite COVID and its lousy aftermath, is nothing short of joyful. To enjoy the heart-bursting pride of thoughtful children who are good citizens; to watch thriving grandchildren climbing into their life’s own decades; to relish a treasury of deep friendships; to share each day with a gentle partner – all journeys of joy.

My best lifelong travel companions have been Good Fortune and Love. The usual sorrows, hurts, and disappointments along the way – merely baggage.

The journey is everything.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.