Happy Birthday Aaron!

Some people know that Aaron was only supposed to live to the ripe old age of 32. When I met Aaron and we talked about getting married. He told me to consider the fact that he was going to die at 32. We joked about it a lot over the years but I never heard the story until a few days ago. Well, his birthday came and went and we are happy that he is still with us. Here is his story:

If you are reading this email chances are I am still alive. And if you would like you can call me just to make sure.


Many of you have heard the ill fated theory, legend, or whatever you wanna call it that I was doomed to die at the ripe age of 32. Well kiss it 32 I am now 33 and I feel a whole lot different.

Let me tell you the story...It begins at the age of 16 as I was playing basketball (well "pretending" to play basketball, if any of you have seen me try that game of skill and balance, well it's not pretty, anyway back to the story...playing basketball) at the Dew's house with Brandon. I was throwing the basketball unsuccessfully at the rim when Mr. Grim told me, "You will die at the age of 32". I wasn't too incredibly scared or shocked by my revealed demise, in fact I simply told Brandon of my new found wisdom to which he replied, "Oh, I am going to be President of the United States" and we kept on playing (well he kept playing, I continued to throw the ball and then duck for cover).

Well, ever since that day I continued to be reminded of the number 32 and its place in my own history. I told family and friends of my fate, and I even told Monica before we got hitched that our marriage might be a short one.

Furthermore, all of this year I have thought of the many ways I might depart: Car crash, stroke, heart attack, lightning, meteor to the head, choking with no one around to give me the Heimlich Maneuver, or early onset Alzheimer resulting in me getting on a random bus that falls off a cliff and burst into flames.

I recently anticipated driving a U-Haul across the country with the fear that I may drive onto a thrown banana peel and go end-over-end tossing all of our belongings in a rainbow fashion into the Nebraska corn, and of course dieing in the process. But, none of those things have happened. All I can think is maybe the reaper doesn't yet know I've moved, or maybe I just heard him wrong, maybe he said I'd die at 132. I don't know.

I have actually given Mr. Shackles plenty of opportunity to take me on my last day as a 32 year old. I drove around town without my seatbelt on, I read part of an email behind the wheel, I worked with three power tools (table saw, miter saw, and nail gun). I framed the giant mirror in my living room and spent a lot of time on our two-step step-stool (its not that high, but in my mind I saw a variety of unpleasant things I might lose my balance and fall on). And for dinner we ate hot dogs.

So, I guess its just not my year.

I do feel ecstatic since I have successfully dodged death, but I also feel like I may have done something wrong.

So, thats the story. I really have no idea why I thought I would cease to exist at 32 but here I am, happy to be alive. Here is to another 32 years, or even more if I start exercising...Maybe I could join a basketball league.

Aaron.




This whole big milestone made me thankful for all he is and does for us. Aaron is smart, funny, he is a great dad, and a wonderful cook. He is ambitious, loves to learn, and is a fantastic artist. He is my best friend and I'm lucky to have him. Happy Birthday old man. I love you lots!