I had my annual dermatology visit on Tuesday.

“I can’t believe she’s 40,” the doctor said quietly outside my exam room. “She has CF.”

The doctor explained the significance to the medical assistant, who said “Wow” at least five times.

The door flung open, and after a quick greeting, the doctor emphasized how incredible it is that I’m alive—as she does every year. And though I share in her bewilderment, it felt a little different knowing that this week, specifically today, Ramón would have turned 47.

I am thrilled to be 40. Truly. But I think there will always be a tiny part of me that feels like I’m living in an error—that there was a mix-up, that wires got crossed.  

The last birthday Ramón and I celebrated together was his 40th, which also happened to be the day he was diagnosed with leukemia. But May 7 has been his birthday more times than it’s been his diagnosis day—and it will continue to be his birthday forever.

I’m glad you were born, Ramón!