Four years ago, “A Life of Passion,” a personal essay of mine,  was published on mamalode.com.  (Click here to read it).  I wrote about the big events of 2015 – namely, my mom turning 70 and my son turning 7 on the same day.  I wrote about these two very important people, at very different stages of their lives, each living their days with passion.

And I feared I wasn’t.

Four years later, and in just a few days, my mom is turning 74 and my son is turning 11.  And a few weeks ago I turned 43.

But what has changed?  And what has remained the same?  

Both my mom and my son continue to live passionately.  There is no doubt about it.  They are each taking care of their responsibilities and doing things that make them feel good.

And me?  

I love my family passionately.  I never let my pain, my fatigue alter the way I show my family love.

I think, I hope, I express myself passionately through my writing.  

Amusing to my husband, and annoying to my son, is the way I passionately yell at the TV when we watch basketball, worried when a player hits the ground or when two players begin to exchange shoves and pushes.  

But do I live passionately?  Do I do all the things I’d like to do, or do I hold myself back because of fear, the possibility of “what if…?”  Yes and no.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the same girl who took belly dancing classes, or went parasailing, or enjoyed a hot air balloon ride.  Am I no longer doing such things because I’m older?  Because I’m a mother?  Because I’m often in pain?  It’s so hard to separate and know which parts of my life would have been different and which would have remained the same had I not become ill.