Some people dread Friday the 13th. We go to that place of fear, allowing our 2000 year old brains and instincts to send us back into survival mode. If it has a potential to be bad or harmful, we allow ourselves to react to it that way unless we check ourselves and right our brains.
Friday the 13th is just another day. But one Friday the 13th was a day I consider to be lucky – it was the one that gave my father a second chance. That Friday the 13th, now four decades in the past, allowed my father to survive the explosion that must have taken a brigade of guardian angels to save his life.
I am forever grateful because without my Dad, I would not have felt that I should or could dream my dreams, or to take the steps to make those dreams my reality. Friday the 13th is nothing for me to fear. I choose to celebrate it because I have a lifetime of memories with him that I cherish. I have a lifetime of lessons that he taught me that I hope I am able to pass on to my children and teach them as well.
My Friday the 13th is not filled with black cats, broken mirrors and ladders. It is filled with angels, love and the joy of knowing what I could have lost but didn’t.