Earlier in the week, when they asked me where I might like to go for my birthday dinner, I replied, “Surprise me.”

They hate it when I do that.

So this is after a long week. 

After Karry’s long Saturday shift. 

After I came down with a cold earlier in the day that left me a leaky, and mostly miserable, cauldron.

 After getting dressed for a nice, though not fancy, birthday dinner.

After arguing in the driveway about whether to make the long drive into the city in the rain or just cancel the reservation. 

After loudly debating whether we were in any shape to even enjoy a nice meal in our diminished states. 

After Karry got behind the wheel to adjudicate the decision. 

After I barely said a word from the back seat the whole way in, sulking. 

After we found an open spot on the street. 

After Peter, without a word, went around to the back of the car and fished out the umbrella he’d retrieved from the garage before we left, and did this ….

This is after I, unconsciously, slowed my walk behind them, even though it was raining harder than when we’d left … just so I could soak it all in. 

After thinking of the Japanese art of Kintsugi, of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, which makes the piece beautiful because of its cracks.

A son, holding his umbrella high, to shield his mom from the rain.

I’m not sure why, but this just melted me. For some reason, it made every bit of everything that came before worth it. Maybe even all of the past 53 years.

This is me in my diminished state, after receiving the best birthday gift I am not capable of even wishing for — the gift of bearing witness.

“Surprise me,” I said.

And to think, I almost let it slip through the cracks.