The Seven Year Theory

At least a decade ago, I was introduced to the theory that your body shifts or changes every seven years or so. I can't remember how it related to me at the time, but it made a lot of sense to me then.

I was curious about it now, so I looked it up:

"Are you the same person now that you were fifteen years ago? In fact, are you the same person you were just seven years ago? Most of us have heard the old saying that every cell in the body is changed over a period of seven years; but recent investigation has uncovered facts of far more significance to us as human beings. This concerns the emotional, physical and mental changes that seem to occur in approximate seven-year intervals. Of course there are no fixed boundaries and so one may achieve these levels of maturity at any period of our life." Credit: Tony Crisp

So why am I thinking about this theory now? It's simple. Allie would be seven this April.

Something has shifted or changed in me over the past few months. Although I miss my first baby so much, I also feel like I need to let her go a little bit. I do not want to live in my grief anymore. I am taking a step back from publishing articles about stillbirth and loss. I want to move forward and stop standing still.

Is that the changing of my cells talking or my heart? Or both?

The recovery from my surgical procedure from last month has been much more intense than I anticipated. I have spent a lot of time sleeping and healing and reflecting and what I realized was that despite my best intentions, I spend a lot of time mourning the past or anxiously awaiting the future.

My family has always been my first priority. Lately, though, I feel more present when I am with them. Forcing myself to slow down helped me take a focused look around. That's what happens when you can't drive for over a week!

To quote Dear Evan Hansen which I saw last week in New York City, "No one deserves to be forgotten. No one deserves to fade away." Allie will not be forgotten. Not by me. Not by her dad. Not by her sister. And not by anyone that loves us. I think it's time to trust that love.

For example, in New York last week, I thought a lot of my dad. He loved that city and called it home for a good number of years. The sounds, smells, and energy all made him feel alive. I always shared that passion with him. I have not hidden the fact that my dad was a flawed man. A hurtful man, even. But I felt connected with him last week as the taxi cabs whizzed by us. I trusted the love that we did share and knew it would be there for me when I needed it. As suddenly as I felt him, I also felt him slip away. He is not forgotten. He has not faded away. If anything, the negativity of him has, leaving behind just the good.

I just turned 44 on Sunday. While that is not a derivative of seven, I feel a shift in my soul as well. Part of it is from the surgery. Part of it is that my daughter is heading to Kindergarten next year and I see this chapter of our lives closing and the next chapter getting ready to be written. Part of it is just the passage of time. 

I am excited about the future. I am even more excited for the present. It truly is a gift.

Souvenirs from NYC. No one deserves to be forgotten.