The Year of Fives

Yesterday was my 5th anniversary at my job current company. That means I’ve turned in 1300 time sheets.

If you’ve been following me for awhile, you may have noticed that the spring and summer time bring several acknowledgements of anniversaries. This year, those dates mark five years.

You see, 2011 was the year that everything in my life changed. It’s a year when a lot about who I am as a person was defined, and it all happened in a very short period of time.

Five years ago in May, I graduated from college and two weeks later Brad and I got married.

Five years ago on July 6, I started working in public relations, at the agency where I now run the PR department.

Five years ago on August 11, I nearly died from undiagnosed type 1 diabetes. I was hospitalized for three days. The day after my discharge from the hospital, on August 14th, my dad lost his battle with cancer.

Five years ago on September 4, Brad and I moved to Cleveland.

This is my year of fives.

In some respects, five years is a really short time. In others, it seems like forever. For most of my fives, I feel both the long and short of their passing.

Having just marked five years with my employer, I realized that this is the longest I’ve worked in one single place (and by place, I mean company because my office moved). However, it feels like just yesterday that I was interviewing at the company. Five years has been long enough to 100% consider myself a Clevelander.

After five years of marriage, some people still  think we’re newlyweds while others have determined that Brad and I are an old married couple. What blows my mind even more is that we will have been together for 10 years this fall. I’ve spent a decade with Brad. Wow. 

Ask any of my six nieces or nephews (ages 3 weeks to 6 years) how long five years is and I’m sure all of them would tell you that it’s a long time because from their perspectives it’s a lifetime or longer.

Living with type 1 diabetes for five years feels like both a lifetime and a new life sentence. I still remember life before diabetes fondly, no needles, no carb counting, no insults and no fear of complications or death.

Five years without my dad is possibly the most difficult adjustment though and feels like the shortest time span. To this day, I still feel like it should be as easy as picking up the phone to talk with him again and tell him the things I’ve thought about or done that he would appreciate.

For every high in my year of fives, I feel like there’s also a low. This summer is a period or acknowledgement, achievement and remembrance for me.

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