Today is Georges' birthday, and it's a biggie. I'm not telling the number. It's not a number most of us would be very happy about, but it doesn't bother me at all that he's this age. (Ask me how I'll feel when *I* get there, and I'll probably have another answer, one involving a string of bad, bad words.) I don't think of us as having an age difference. Easy to say that, of course, when you're the younger of the two.
He and I actually celebrated his birthday as part of our London Getaway, but of course being down here on vacation in Saint Raphael with his sister and his son, he gets to have another birthday celebration today, and a third one on Friday when his son arrives. When we get back to Paris later in the month, we'll do another dinner with the older kids (his daughter's birthday was yesterday).
I think we're both at an age where aging is the thing you try not to think about. It hits us all in the end and there is very little we can do about it, so why dwell on it?
Here's what makes aging easier, if not easy: Love. Love makes difficult things bearable, and bearable things better. Love makes it possible to feel young on the inside, no matter what your outsides may be doing. Love makes it possible to look at the one you love, and age doesn't even matter because all you see is the love between you. Love is the one gift where in giving it unconditionally and with all your heart, you win, too.
No matter what questions aging may raise, Love IS the answer.
Happy Birthday, my darling Georges. Simplement, éternellement, je t'aime.