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In the back of a cluttered drawer I found a candleholder I used for my boys when they were little. It's small and heart shaped, with an opening for a birthday cake candle. A tiny candle in its silver heart now sits on my desk, a reminder of the past, but more importantly, of the present. When I see the candle, I remember all the fun birthdays my teenage boys celebrated as children: bowling parties, nature trails, amusement parks, many happy times. But now they are older -- they are becoming independent. I no longer organize their social lives.
The candle also reminds me of my own birthdays. I look at my miniature candle and think yes, another birthday, another year. I'll admit, it's not easy watching myself slide into middle age. But that's not why I keep the candle. The birthday candle reminds me that although I'm getting older, my heart still beats, my chest still expands with air. I'm thankful for that.
The beauty ads tell me I can transform myself, smooth away wrinkles, appear ten years younger. My drawers hold tubes of anti-aging cream and bottles of hair dye, concealing makeup, and multivitamins. But the fact remains I'm getting older, and no amount of mending, patching, or erasing can stop the forward momentum of time. NEXT
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