What do I do now?

In a little over a week, I'll celebrate my 53rd birthday.

Fifty frickin three.

I'm not sure I like the sound of that. And celebrate? Hardly. What's to celebrate?

On my 52nd birthday, I had the day off and made the trek to Denver to visit Teresa, who was just a couple months into her year-long stay at the Colorado Acute Longterm Hospital. I had a hunch something might be going on when I walked past the nurses station as I got a few smiles and grins from the nurses, aides and physical therapists.

Actually I didn't have a clue, really. I say I did, but I'm just kidding myself. It sounds better when I say it.

Just a few minutes after my arrival, the whole nurses station seemed to come into Teresa's room where they sang happy birthday to me, did a little dance and gave me a cupcake with a candle in it. One of Teresa's nurses, Sue, made me a birthday hat from a Depends diaper. I wore it for them. I have proof with a picture that I will likely never show anybody again.

Teresa had it all planned out. I'd give anything to only be turning 52 in a week, instead of 53.

The future, however, is all I have. Throughout the years, I had probably been a little guilty of not paying attention to the future. After all, you're young, strong and have your whole life ahead of you. I guess I'm the poster boy for not planning ahead.

So now, here I am turning 53 and barely working part-time. I would have never thought it would happen to me. I had a steady job doing what I loved to do for over 25 years of my adult life, found the love of my life, got married and things were going great.

Then came the day in Oct. 2007 when I lost my job. But Teresa had a great job and we got by. Teresa's health issues began to creep up and on Nov. 11, 2009, our lives changed. Teresa's car accident sent her health into a tailspin and she eventually lost her job.

What do I do now?

I worked part-time before commuting to Cheyenne to work for the Tribune-Eagle as a news copy editor. It wasn't what I loved to do, but I thought it was the right thing to do at the time.

Of course, most of you know the rest of the story by now. Teresa's illnesses finally caught up to her again and she passed away on Jan. 12 of this year. Up until the last year or so I had never spent a minute of my life thinking that something like this would happen. I admit, as sick as Teresa was in the past year or so, I did think about it. But I never thought it would really happen.

I had quit my job in Cheyenne to be home more to take care of Teresa when she was to be discharged, with the idea that I would work part-time. We'd find a way to make it.

Reality bites and I'm not talking about the movie.

I'm not even sure who I said this to after Teresa passed, as the next couple of days were a blur, but I remember saying to someone, "What do I do now?"

Was I being selfish? I think so and I can't get it out of my mind. I had depended on Teresa for so much, even though she spent the last couple years of her life in a hospital bed. And it certainly wasn't fair that somebody like Teresa, who had spent much of her life taking care of others, even to the end and who had so much to give, had to go through this.

Yet, I'm wondering, "What do I do now?"

The last few years had been tough on all of us who knew and loved Teresa, not just me. But I was also dealing with losing my job, my identity as a sportswriter for the local newspaper. It hit me the hardest one day a couple of years after I had lost my job, when standing in line at the grocery store, somebody turned around and said to me, "didn't you used to be the guy who wrote sports at the Boomerang?"

I had now become a trivia question.

All I could say was, "Yeah."

I had never told Teresa that story, but she knew something wasn't right. This past year we would talk about life and she suggested that I needed to see somebody, a therapist. She thought I was depressed because of the way things had gone with her health and how our lives had changed. That was Teresa, always thinking of others.

I agreed. I was depressed because of what had happened to her. But it had started when I lost my job four years earlier.

Again, I never thought it would happen to me. I never paid attention to other people who were in my position. I never thought I needed to pay attention.

So here I am, almost 53 and apparently over the hill as a sportswriter, at least in my mind as to how others in the business perceive me. I can see it in my fellow media, especially from those in their 20s and 30s. They look at me as if time has passed me by. It's the same look I probably gave to others when I was their age.

So what do I do now?

I'll figure it out. All I have ever known is being a sportswriter. It's all I have ever wanted to do. I knew it when I was 17. It's what Teresa wanted for me, even at the end. Just after I lost my job at the Boomerang, I started my own sports website. Teresa passed out my business cards at games, at the grocery store, to anyone she knew. She was my biggest fan.

I may have to greet shoppers at Walmart during the day or ask people if they want fries with their burger, but I'm not giving up. I lived with somebody who never gave up.

And I am seeing a therapist, in case you're wondering. I listened to my wife, she always knew what was best for me.

So depression, it will take a while, but instead of kicking my ass, you can kiss my ass.