Finding Forty

It’s almost 2026.

For as long as I can remember, I wondered what my life would become.
Who I would be.
Who would love me.
What kind of family I would build.

I thought the answers would arrive loudly,
like the future finally announcing itself.

They didn’t.

They arrived slowly.
Through years of wondering.
Through moments of loss and long stretches of hope held carefully.

And then, in the last hour, everything settled.
With the birth of my second son at 39.
Not early.
Not easy.
But right on time.

There were no fireworks.
Just a small body placed against mine.
A cry that quieted something deep and old inside me.

I didn’t know how heavy peace could feel
until there was no more waiting left to do.

The dreams I carried for decades are no longer imagined.
They are here.
They breathe.
They sleep.
They call me by name.

As a new year approaches, I feel the old reflex rise.
The urge to ask, Now what?

But my heart already knows.

Now I stay.
Now I soften.
Now I tend to what has been given to me.

I share my story gently, not to relive the hard parts,
but in case someone else is still waiting.
In case they need to know that time is not wasted
and that arrival can be quiet and still be holy.

This is the year I stop chasing the fire.
I sit beside it.
Grateful.
Surrendered.
My family warm and whole around me.