Lucky

There’s a way I have of looking at my life story where I seem to give myself a kind of downer presentation as the Bad Luck Kid. That I’m always kind of unlucky. That if bad things happen, that if someone got the goose egg, it was me. This way of ruminating on my life ends up making me depressed, but it’s a groove I just seem to fall into. It’s not a good routine for me. 

I was lucky to get pregnant as soon as I wanted, as fast as I wanted, when I was 41.

I was lucky to have Sarah for sixteen years, five months, and 28 days. I was lucky to find good doctors and teachers and aides and helpers for her. I was so lucky that she was a beautiful, happy child.

I was lucky to find our house here in the neighborhood we wanted to live in, to have our low bid accepted in the middle of this crazy real estate market.

I was lucky to find a job that I like to do, to work and take care of my family at the same time.

I was lucky to have a husband who is a great dad and a great human being.