Birthday Folly

How, oh how can I thank my dear friends for their birthday posts? To link to them here seems rather self-promoting (although you sgouldvisit theirblogs). But Jennifer Dukes Lee and Lyla Lindquist and Sandra Heska King slipped into God’s stream and helped me to celebrate my birthday.

I’ve sort of skipped the last two. I skipped 40 because it was too soon after my mom died. And 39, well, here it is:

(in case you have a thing for cancer poems, just look to the left and there are 72 of them, ready and waiting)


Mom and Dad came from the east bearing birthday gifts

smoked turkey, brisket, creamed

corn, potato salad, coleslaw,

sausage, beans, ribs, chocolate chunk cookies.

We dig in.

Mom, adept at hiding chemo’s forced starvation,

picks at her food (except for the cookie).

I break out the Fat Tire — our favorite microbrew,

an amber ale divinely inspired on a bike trip. I sip,

savor the label: “Follow your folly. Ours is beer.”

Mom’s is to believe until the last possible second

that she will be spared.


  1. I don’t know that I have ever been more proud of you than I was on Friday when your friends did that for you. Please honor what they did by replying to my comment with links to their sites. Happy Birthday! I love you.

  2. And I’m so glad they did. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MEGAN. Though we’ve not met in person yet, I feel as though we have. And – based on my own sad experience with my best friend and my son-in-law – dealing with someone who is clearly dying but will not allow conversation about it – well, it exponentially increases the pain of it all. There needs to be room for good-bye – it’s one of the few ‘gifts’ (hesitate to even use that word here) of a long dying as opposed to a sudden one. So….as you continue to say those good-byes, I am praying for a week of refreshment and release after years and years of accumulated pain. Your journey has been an extremely and profoundly difficult one. And I thank you for the vulnerable ways in which you share a little about that, especially through your poetry. Be blessed, be safe, be encouraged by this time away.

  3. Ah Megan – just hugs because words don’t seem quite adequate.

  4. Happy Birthday — belated, and may your year be filled with love, light and laughter.


    and I think it is awesome that your husband commented as he did.

  5. Megan what a wonderful tribute, I’m glad you posted the link to your friends blogs. You (and your writing) have been such a blessing to me I’m am glad that you were celebrated!

  6. Trusting He gave you a day rich in what you needed most, my friend.

    As for me, I’m just sort of remembering all those things that make me like you so much.

  7. Oh Megan, I love you. And can I tell you how much I love your new place here? It FITS you!

    Your poem hurts. Awfully. But you hurt, awfully. That ache doesn’t ever leave, does it?

    Love you so much, friend.

  8. Sorry I missed the birthday. But I didnt miss the meal, which you so richly described

  9. Happy birthday on this year that marks the re-entry of celebrations for you. I felt the words of your poem, especially the part about you watching your mom pick at her food. Such a hard thing about cancer. I wrote almost the same sequence of words in the very first post on my blog after we lost our grandpa.