I was at the grocery store yesterday – which could have also been the day before – or the day before that because I pretty much go there everyday. I either forget something or realize that I don’t have something. Or my daughter needs another bag of Oreos – at any rate it is always something. I know the cashiers by name and whenever someone looks confused as to where to find something I can usually tell them what aisle and what shelf.
Its pathetic, I know.
So, I went for a few things yesterday – lets say there were about 15 items in my cart when I was done – and I am happy to say that I needed them all. I didn’t fall for any of those deals marketed at the end caps, I didn’t grab a bag of chips on my way, or buy 10 when I only needed 2… No, I stuck to my list and high tailed it out of there. Well, almost high tailed it out of there.
It was when I got to the check-out things took a turn.
Apparently, I am not the only one in the grocery store.
The lines were rather full. I don’t say long – because lets face it – it wasn’t a holiday – there weren’t people stacked up overflowing the line of traffic. They were just full.
So, I did what I have feared for a few years now. I went to the “do it yourself” lane.
I consider myself a rather technologically competent individual. I have an iphone, I twitter, I facebook, I text… but the “do it yourself” line at Jewel – intimidates me more than bungee jumping.
Maybe its because I don’t have a good track record. I can think of two times out of the 15 I have done it – that I didn’t need a real checker to come and save my ass.
So, going to the “do it yourself” aisle isn’t something I jump at the chance to do. Which is funny because besides playing school, playing store as a child was my favorite thing to do.
It was always so fun to line up a bunch of random items and pretend you were the cashier ringing them up… And I mean ringing them up – because I am old enough to admit that we didn’t have scanners. Nope – every item was added up by pressing numbers into a real cash register – not a computer screen.
I remember the day I saw my first scanner… wow – the sound of the beep – the speed of the transaction… how cool.
How cool – until you are the dumbass trying to make it work.
My first few items went fine. And then came the frozen chicken kiev (you don’t need to tell me how unhealthy it is – or how whatever is really in that plastic package isn’t chicken – I know that but my daughter loves them)
But, no matter how hard I tried – I couldn’t get the damn scanner to read the barcode. I set the three chickens – or whatever they are- back in the cart and proceeded. A few more successes, so feeling confident – I went back to my chickens. I got two to work but the third was still stubborn. Yes, I tried using one of the ones that did work – but, apparently, they were only good for one try.
Sigh. Back to a few other items.
And then the broccoli hit. Fresh produce. Now that could be a tricky one to some – because it needs to be weighed and you need to know that code – the one that you are always amazed at how every cashier knows the code for thousands of produce… But, I had been down this road before so I knew what to do.
I placed the broccoli on the scale and proceeded to look up my item on the touch screen. I found broccoli and pressed the icon – and it didn’t work. It said, as I feared through my whole experience, “Get help.”
Ugh! I can do this – so I tried it three more times.
I went back to the chicken and after three more swipes I finally heard that beep – the one I always wanted to imitate when I played store… a sense of relief came over me – until I looked in my cart and saw the damn broccoli still staring at me.
“Do I really need it,” I thought to myself.
Just then one of the cashiers I could identify from across the room – a friendly face I have seen at Jewel for 17 years walked by and I yelped for help like a lost dog.
“Ah, broccoli,” she said. “They took the darn code out and expect people to know it. I keep telling them to fix it. Sorry about that.”
Aaaaah – it was like the Heavens opened up. It wasn’t me – it was the damn computer.
But, truthfully it was me. Ringing up my own basket of goodies scares the Hell out of me. I feel like people are watching, judging me – laughing at me most of the time. And it seems no matter how hard I try – I always get the same message, “Get help.”
30 years ago, I would have paid to stand in front of a cash register (or computer these days) and play cashier. I could have spent countless hours – lining up grocery items and ringing them up. Filling baskets with groceries, reveling in the beep they made as they crossed the scanner, making change and swiping credit cards… even the joy I would have found bagging the purchases.
But, when pretend play become reality – it seems more like a nightmare.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Truths: Half way
It is almost June and that means that nearly half the year is over. And that made re-examine the goals I set on January 1st. This is the first year that I took each month and designated at least 5 things to accomplish. It was my way of breaking down everything I wanted to do this year and making it achievable – or so I thought. The year, of course, started with a bang and as January came to a close I had marked off all 7 things, February – same thing and then March hit and the list started to wane.
I guess the first debockle was when I injured my back and my goal of running three miles a day came to an end and then I found that I was so busy going to Dr. appointments that my book editing lingered… and here I am the end of May – with more things circled still to do then things checked off as done.
Sure life gets in the way. I had a few health scares… my grandma got sick and passed away…and – well, shit just happens.
The interesting and saddest discovery is that the one goal that means the most to me: my book – is the one item that is circled every month. Why – why has everything else come first?
I don’t know and I don’t even know if I know how to change it. All I do know is that my priorities are, obviously, messed up.
Its not all bad – Thorp got involved in therapy work and I found myself with this unexpected gift of students who inspire me. I got to spend a lot of time with my grandma before I lost her, and a lot of house is de-cluttered. And, I guess all of that makes a difference in my life.
But, it is almost June and the good thing is that I have 6 months to re-cover. To re-prioritize and get back on track. As soon as I post this blog – I am going to re-write my year plans and do my best to recover the time I lost. Its never too late to change course - or so I can only hope.
I guess the first debockle was when I injured my back and my goal of running three miles a day came to an end and then I found that I was so busy going to Dr. appointments that my book editing lingered… and here I am the end of May – with more things circled still to do then things checked off as done.
Sure life gets in the way. I had a few health scares… my grandma got sick and passed away…and – well, shit just happens.
The interesting and saddest discovery is that the one goal that means the most to me: my book – is the one item that is circled every month. Why – why has everything else come first?
I don’t know and I don’t even know if I know how to change it. All I do know is that my priorities are, obviously, messed up.
Its not all bad – Thorp got involved in therapy work and I found myself with this unexpected gift of students who inspire me. I got to spend a lot of time with my grandma before I lost her, and a lot of house is de-cluttered. And, I guess all of that makes a difference in my life.
But, it is almost June and the good thing is that I have 6 months to re-cover. To re-prioritize and get back on track. As soon as I post this blog – I am going to re-write my year plans and do my best to recover the time I lost. Its never too late to change course - or so I can only hope.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Truths: Ashes to Ashes
Its been a long few weeks for me – weeks that I am not sure I was fully conscious enough to remember. A blur as they say…
But yesterday, well, yesterday was eye-opening to say the least. Enlightening. Breathtaking.
We spread my grandma’s ashes. Her wish was to have her ashes mixed with my grandpa’s (who died 22 years ago) and spread amongst the land they owned for nearly 60 years. (note: this is actually illegal… I am not sure where exactly it is legal to spread your ashes but according to others – it is not a widely accepted practice)
It was a very small and private affair. My mom and dad, me, and my grandma’s dear friend and caretaker, Scott. (Not to be confused with my brother, Scott – no, he has yet to even call us back since grandma passed away.)
So, my dad and I got the ashes out. I really had no experience with this – only with my pets. However, I had never spread their ashes or even really looked at them. They sit in the container they came in – on a shelf in my office.
Maybe its details you don’t need – but here they are anyway because I do think that when I get to the whole point of this story – they will matter.
My grandpa’s ashes were 4 times as many as my grandma’s… they were much bigger in size and shape – more like crushed seashells compared to my grandma’s whose were as fine as dust and much, much less in quantity.
We did our best to mix the two together and then we embarked on a journey to the property I have known my whole life.
The lilac bushes, in full bloom, where my grandma, great grandma and I would pick blooms and make fragrant bouquets for the kitchen table. The grape vines where we would smash the little fruits and stain our clothes in purple juice. The cigar tree as we called it and picked those long pods. It is a field of memories – of happy times – of innocence for me.
And as we walked, I could literally see myself at ages 5, 12, 17 – my life passing before me.
We stopped at the oak tree that my grandma specified to my mom… My mom read a passage from a blessing which was said by a minister right before she passed. My dad took some of the ashes and scattered them around the tree.
We went to the magnolia tree that my grandma had specified to Scott… this time I read a prayer and again scattered the remains of the ashes.
The wind was soft and the sun was shining and there was something unspoken in the air. My prayer was about freedom… and that my grandma was free to be with God… Someone she believed in her whole life – she was in Heaven – the place she waited to see.
But as the ashes blew in the wind and fell upon the soil – I became awestruck.
We look at people our whole lives – we judge their appearance: how they dress, how much they weigh, their flaws and maybe sometimes, their perfections…
But here I was looking at what was left of my grandma – and none of that stuff mattered – because her whole life was reduced to dust – dust that would be absorbed by the ground and all that would remain as proof of her existence was they things that she did – the love that she shared, the happiness she offered, the contributions she made.
We look at people and somehow believe that their appearance says something about them – but in the end - the one things that says anything about them – is the work of their soul and their soul can take the shape of anything…
I have truthfully never looked at life like that before.
I have never spread ashes. I have only see urns – or been to services where you see a casket and a body and it just seems like the whole person, body and all, gets laid to rest. But there really isn’t a body. It was merely just a shell – to house the soul – the soul whose job is to make a difference in some way while on this Earth.
Life becomes unfathomable when looked at in this light. It definitely gives reason to pause and re-evaluate what is important – what matters and how you judge people.
Sure we have all heard things like: “You can’t judge a book by its cover,” or “It what’s on the inside that matters.”
But until you see someone you love as only ashes in a bag do you realize that it is all true.
It also reveals that if I weigh 10 pounds more than I want, or wish that my hair was longer or my boobs bigger – I am ultimately wasting my energy because none of that matters… What matters is what I do while I am here – how I offer of myself to others, how I love and how I choose to live my life.
One day, when my ashes are spread – I can only hope that no one is saying, “If she only would have lost that 10 pounds, or let her hair grow, or had plastic surgery.”
I want them to say things like, “She loved with her whole heart, she always stopped to save a stray and she wrote that book that changed the way people saw the world – she made a difference here.”
My grandma made a difference. She taught for 50 years, hundreds of children who always remembered her. She made me laugh and loved me unconditionally. And as I watched her ashes return to Earth – She had the wisdom to teach me one last thing: Quit wasting time and go pursue your passion in life…all the other stuff really doesn’t matter.
But yesterday, well, yesterday was eye-opening to say the least. Enlightening. Breathtaking.
We spread my grandma’s ashes. Her wish was to have her ashes mixed with my grandpa’s (who died 22 years ago) and spread amongst the land they owned for nearly 60 years. (note: this is actually illegal… I am not sure where exactly it is legal to spread your ashes but according to others – it is not a widely accepted practice)
It was a very small and private affair. My mom and dad, me, and my grandma’s dear friend and caretaker, Scott. (Not to be confused with my brother, Scott – no, he has yet to even call us back since grandma passed away.)
So, my dad and I got the ashes out. I really had no experience with this – only with my pets. However, I had never spread their ashes or even really looked at them. They sit in the container they came in – on a shelf in my office.
Maybe its details you don’t need – but here they are anyway because I do think that when I get to the whole point of this story – they will matter.
My grandpa’s ashes were 4 times as many as my grandma’s… they were much bigger in size and shape – more like crushed seashells compared to my grandma’s whose were as fine as dust and much, much less in quantity.
We did our best to mix the two together and then we embarked on a journey to the property I have known my whole life.
The lilac bushes, in full bloom, where my grandma, great grandma and I would pick blooms and make fragrant bouquets for the kitchen table. The grape vines where we would smash the little fruits and stain our clothes in purple juice. The cigar tree as we called it and picked those long pods. It is a field of memories – of happy times – of innocence for me.
And as we walked, I could literally see myself at ages 5, 12, 17 – my life passing before me.
We stopped at the oak tree that my grandma specified to my mom… My mom read a passage from a blessing which was said by a minister right before she passed. My dad took some of the ashes and scattered them around the tree.
We went to the magnolia tree that my grandma had specified to Scott… this time I read a prayer and again scattered the remains of the ashes.
The wind was soft and the sun was shining and there was something unspoken in the air. My prayer was about freedom… and that my grandma was free to be with God… Someone she believed in her whole life – she was in Heaven – the place she waited to see.
But as the ashes blew in the wind and fell upon the soil – I became awestruck.
We look at people our whole lives – we judge their appearance: how they dress, how much they weigh, their flaws and maybe sometimes, their perfections…
But here I was looking at what was left of my grandma – and none of that stuff mattered – because her whole life was reduced to dust – dust that would be absorbed by the ground and all that would remain as proof of her existence was they things that she did – the love that she shared, the happiness she offered, the contributions she made.
We look at people and somehow believe that their appearance says something about them – but in the end - the one things that says anything about them – is the work of their soul and their soul can take the shape of anything…
I have truthfully never looked at life like that before.
I have never spread ashes. I have only see urns – or been to services where you see a casket and a body and it just seems like the whole person, body and all, gets laid to rest. But there really isn’t a body. It was merely just a shell – to house the soul – the soul whose job is to make a difference in some way while on this Earth.
Life becomes unfathomable when looked at in this light. It definitely gives reason to pause and re-evaluate what is important – what matters and how you judge people.
Sure we have all heard things like: “You can’t judge a book by its cover,” or “It what’s on the inside that matters.”
But until you see someone you love as only ashes in a bag do you realize that it is all true.
It also reveals that if I weigh 10 pounds more than I want, or wish that my hair was longer or my boobs bigger – I am ultimately wasting my energy because none of that matters… What matters is what I do while I am here – how I offer of myself to others, how I love and how I choose to live my life.
One day, when my ashes are spread – I can only hope that no one is saying, “If she only would have lost that 10 pounds, or let her hair grow, or had plastic surgery.”
I want them to say things like, “She loved with her whole heart, she always stopped to save a stray and she wrote that book that changed the way people saw the world – she made a difference here.”
My grandma made a difference. She taught for 50 years, hundreds of children who always remembered her. She made me laugh and loved me unconditionally. And as I watched her ashes return to Earth – She had the wisdom to teach me one last thing: Quit wasting time and go pursue your passion in life…all the other stuff really doesn’t matter.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Truths: Breathe
Breathe in
A star in the sky
Breathe out
A baby swaddled in cloth
Breathe in
A young girl in a sundress
Breathe out
A woman in heels and lipstick
Breathe in
A woman in love with a man
Breathe out
A bride
Breathe in
A mother
Breathe out
A teacher
Breathe in
A daughter, a sister
Breathe out
A friend
Breathe in
A grandma
Breathe out
A widow
Breath in
A great grandma
Breathe out
Breath in, breathe out
As life hangs in the air, shared by family and friends, awaiting her fate, talking of her beauty, her devotion, her spirit
Breathe in, breathe out
A silence fills the room, life becomes nothing but a swish of air, warm skin, dry lips.
Breathe in, breathe out
One, two, three… gasp
Breathe in, breathe out
All eyes on lips that flutter, face gaunt and grey
Breathe in, breathe out
Amongst the scared space lives 91 years:
memories, accomplishments, tragedies,
tears of joy, of sadness,
loss and love
Breathe in, breathe out
In one last breath a life is transformed
raising from a bed
spreading her wings - a spiritual soul.
Free at last
Breathe in, breathe out.
A star in the sky
Breathe out
A baby swaddled in cloth
Breathe in
A young girl in a sundress
Breathe out
A woman in heels and lipstick
Breathe in
A woman in love with a man
Breathe out
A bride
Breathe in
A mother
Breathe out
A teacher
Breathe in
A daughter, a sister
Breathe out
A friend
Breathe in
A grandma
Breathe out
A widow
Breath in
A great grandma
Breathe out
Breath in, breathe out
As life hangs in the air, shared by family and friends, awaiting her fate, talking of her beauty, her devotion, her spirit
Breathe in, breathe out
A silence fills the room, life becomes nothing but a swish of air, warm skin, dry lips.
Breathe in, breathe out
One, two, three… gasp
Breathe in, breathe out
All eyes on lips that flutter, face gaunt and grey
Breathe in, breathe out
Amongst the scared space lives 91 years:
memories, accomplishments, tragedies,
tears of joy, of sadness,
loss and love
Breathe in, breathe out
In one last breath a life is transformed
raising from a bed
spreading her wings - a spiritual soul.
Free at last
Breathe in, breathe out.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Truths: When seconds count
Its been a very fast and difficult 24 hours. We had left my grandma Sunday night in ICU only to wake up to a Dr.’s phone call saying that he recommends we get Hospice involved.
Does anyone ever want to hear those words?
We spent the day with my grandma in the ICU – awaiting the presence of a Hospice representative. My grandma dozed in and out of consciousness – once in awhile she would smile and say that she was happy to be going to Hospice.
It was as thought those words brought her a sense of relief – they marked the beginning of the path she has chosen to take…
The Hospice lady came… You hear amazing things about Hospice all of the time. The warmth they offer, the dignity they provide patients. But until you are sitting face to face with them you really have no idea of just how genuine they are.
The administrator came – and as we found moments later to laugh – we decided to call her the recruiter.
She talked with my grandma as much as she could – but it was us that signed her up and listened as she talked.
Her degree of kindness was comforting and without hesitation we knew it was the right thing to do – the only thing to do.
Later a Hospice nurse would come to assess the situation. She, too, was sincere and gentle and recognized the expediency necessary. My grandma would be moved in two hours.
She would be moved to one of their hospital units right in my very own town. They only have two and miraculously one of them is less than a mile from my house – I can even walk there.
I found the strength at the end of the night, after we said goodnight to her in her new room to joke and say, “You know your life is turned upside down when you find it lucky to have your loved one moved to a Hospice close to your home.”
She has her own room and we can decorate it and make it as close to what she called home for over 50 years. It won’t ever be the same – but I guess, for now, it is the best we can offer.
In my own fashion of gaining control of a life spinning out of whack – I envisioned the interior designing I would do – to make it as beautiful as possible.
I tossed and turned all night – so much dread on my mind. Only to wake and find that the nurse called and my grandma’s breathing has lessened and has become very shallow and weak.
In a matter of a few short days – my grandma has gone from being worried about her hair to struggling to breathe. Its is heart stopping to be slapped in the face with how fast life can change – how the people we once knew can be taken away.
Maybe she will fight and make some miraculous recovery… A selfish part of me wants that. But, deep inside I know she wants to die. She is a religious woman and I know that she is anxious to be with the God she loves and I know that is where she will find peace.
Its just hard to let go.
Today I will spend more time with her – and my parents and I will go back to her house and collect some of the things she valued most and take them to her new place… I will busy myself with decorating her room and pretending everything will be okay all while I fight the pain inside knowing that none of that could matter in just a matter of seconds.
Does anyone ever want to hear those words?
We spent the day with my grandma in the ICU – awaiting the presence of a Hospice representative. My grandma dozed in and out of consciousness – once in awhile she would smile and say that she was happy to be going to Hospice.
It was as thought those words brought her a sense of relief – they marked the beginning of the path she has chosen to take…
The Hospice lady came… You hear amazing things about Hospice all of the time. The warmth they offer, the dignity they provide patients. But until you are sitting face to face with them you really have no idea of just how genuine they are.
The administrator came – and as we found moments later to laugh – we decided to call her the recruiter.
She talked with my grandma as much as she could – but it was us that signed her up and listened as she talked.
Her degree of kindness was comforting and without hesitation we knew it was the right thing to do – the only thing to do.
Later a Hospice nurse would come to assess the situation. She, too, was sincere and gentle and recognized the expediency necessary. My grandma would be moved in two hours.
She would be moved to one of their hospital units right in my very own town. They only have two and miraculously one of them is less than a mile from my house – I can even walk there.
I found the strength at the end of the night, after we said goodnight to her in her new room to joke and say, “You know your life is turned upside down when you find it lucky to have your loved one moved to a Hospice close to your home.”
She has her own room and we can decorate it and make it as close to what she called home for over 50 years. It won’t ever be the same – but I guess, for now, it is the best we can offer.
In my own fashion of gaining control of a life spinning out of whack – I envisioned the interior designing I would do – to make it as beautiful as possible.
I tossed and turned all night – so much dread on my mind. Only to wake and find that the nurse called and my grandma’s breathing has lessened and has become very shallow and weak.
In a matter of a few short days – my grandma has gone from being worried about her hair to struggling to breathe. Its is heart stopping to be slapped in the face with how fast life can change – how the people we once knew can be taken away.
Maybe she will fight and make some miraculous recovery… A selfish part of me wants that. But, deep inside I know she wants to die. She is a religious woman and I know that she is anxious to be with the God she loves and I know that is where she will find peace.
Its just hard to let go.
Today I will spend more time with her – and my parents and I will go back to her house and collect some of the things she valued most and take them to her new place… I will busy myself with decorating her room and pretending everything will be okay all while I fight the pain inside knowing that none of that could matter in just a matter of seconds.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Truths: How old are we?
Its been an interesting week…It started when I went to look for a birthday card. I found myself drawn to the ones that hinted at old age. You know the ones that imply memory loss, falling body parts, incontinence? The ones with the wrinkly old ladies making jokes about how hot they are?
And I was laughing.
Kind of a sick laugh – half because they were funny and half because I could relate to them. My memory is getting little foggy but so far my bra holds me up and I haven’t started peeing in my pants (maybe just a little when I cough or laugh really hard – looking at cards that imply I am old).
But as I questioned my youth – I remembered just a few weeks ago when I found myself in the ER and not one but at least three people asked if I was still getting my period?
Huh?
I have been wishing for at least two years to not have it anymore – but when people suggested that I might no longer be getting it – I was actually proud to say yes! I mean do I look like I have survived menopause – do I really look that old?
And then as the past week progressed I was forced to account for the last 40 years of my life and how from the day we can speak sentences we are always eager to be the next year older… You certainly don’t see 30 somethings saying, “Actually, I am 30 and a half.”
But when we are 9 we want to be 10 and when we are 12 we want to be 13 and when we are 15 we want to be 16 so we can drive and when we are 17 we want to be 18 so we are adults and can vote and when we are 20 we want to be 21 so we can drink and when we are 24 we want to be 25 so we can rent a car…And it is about then we want to quit having birthdays.
And from 25 on – we celebrate milestone birthdays as though the parties themselves will erase any indicaton that we have become 30, or 40, or 50.
We find ourselves elated when someone asks for an ID when we buy liquor even though the sign behind the clerk reads, “We card EVERYONE!”
But then just as we are enjoying cloud 9 – we come home and our children say they are embarrassed because we are shopping at their stores. I say if they make it in my size – why can’t I wear it?
My parents just flew in and when they were waiting for their flight an airline attendant came up to them and asked if they were waiting for a wheelchair?
WOW, right? That’s certainly enough to send you over the edge… Though, I laughed my ass off!
I recently was over joyed when I went mother of the bride dress shopping and the dress consultants immediately took me to a different side of the store.
But it is a wave we ride – the wrinkles on our faces, the fact that our middle gets larger even after we run 3 miles a day…
Sometimes I think I married a much older man just so I could always feel younger… (not really – but there are times it adds to my confidence.)
We spend half our lives wanting to be that one year older – wanting what age brings us… freedom. Until one day we find ourselves old and realize our freedom has come and gone.
My grandma is on a slippery road right now… First it was congestive heart failure and now she is in the ICU and is suffering from pneumonia… Its not good.
I see her laying in a bed with a horrible mask on her face so she can breathe – and my heart breaks… the woman who prided herself on looking amazing and put together is nothing more than a frail body in an ugly hospital gown… and I know all she wants is to die.
Before she was admitted into the ICU yesterday she had spent a week in a nursing home and I was forced to look mortality in the face… All of these human beings asleep in wheel chairs in the hallway… basically awaiting for the inevitable.
For them, the hallmark cards aren’t even funny anymore.
We believe that age defines us – whether it be what we are capable of or what we no longer have – and in the end none of that really matters.
As the inevitable approaches my grandma is sane enough to talk about her belongings and if we are able to move her to an assisted living place – she said what she wanted to take along.. two little statues, some sparkly pins that I gave her and her three scrapbooks of pictures.
Wow, right?
All those years spent wanting to be old and then wanting to be young and all she wants now are a few things she could have had at any age.
I guess laughing at those cards is truly a blessing – finding humor in what age does to us – is a coping mechanism – denying that we are actually getting old is just a smokescreen for our fear of what comes next…
But in truth, aging is a natural process – no matter how we try to avoid it – it sneaks up on us… and instead of running from it – we need to find ways to embrace it – to look upon it with respect and to revel in its ultimatum… the alternative is not so glorious.
The wrinkles on our face are signs of the happiness and sorrow we have faced. The grey hair a reminder of the wisdom we have acquired. The fullness in our hearts the love we have experienced.
We get only one chance at this life we have – and as you watch someone come to the end of theirs – it seems rather unfortunate to realize you have spent much of your own worrying about how old you are.
And I was laughing.
Kind of a sick laugh – half because they were funny and half because I could relate to them. My memory is getting little foggy but so far my bra holds me up and I haven’t started peeing in my pants (maybe just a little when I cough or laugh really hard – looking at cards that imply I am old).
But as I questioned my youth – I remembered just a few weeks ago when I found myself in the ER and not one but at least three people asked if I was still getting my period?
Huh?
I have been wishing for at least two years to not have it anymore – but when people suggested that I might no longer be getting it – I was actually proud to say yes! I mean do I look like I have survived menopause – do I really look that old?
And then as the past week progressed I was forced to account for the last 40 years of my life and how from the day we can speak sentences we are always eager to be the next year older… You certainly don’t see 30 somethings saying, “Actually, I am 30 and a half.”
But when we are 9 we want to be 10 and when we are 12 we want to be 13 and when we are 15 we want to be 16 so we can drive and when we are 17 we want to be 18 so we are adults and can vote and when we are 20 we want to be 21 so we can drink and when we are 24 we want to be 25 so we can rent a car…And it is about then we want to quit having birthdays.
And from 25 on – we celebrate milestone birthdays as though the parties themselves will erase any indicaton that we have become 30, or 40, or 50.
We find ourselves elated when someone asks for an ID when we buy liquor even though the sign behind the clerk reads, “We card EVERYONE!”
But then just as we are enjoying cloud 9 – we come home and our children say they are embarrassed because we are shopping at their stores. I say if they make it in my size – why can’t I wear it?
My parents just flew in and when they were waiting for their flight an airline attendant came up to them and asked if they were waiting for a wheelchair?
WOW, right? That’s certainly enough to send you over the edge… Though, I laughed my ass off!
I recently was over joyed when I went mother of the bride dress shopping and the dress consultants immediately took me to a different side of the store.
But it is a wave we ride – the wrinkles on our faces, the fact that our middle gets larger even after we run 3 miles a day…
Sometimes I think I married a much older man just so I could always feel younger… (not really – but there are times it adds to my confidence.)
We spend half our lives wanting to be that one year older – wanting what age brings us… freedom. Until one day we find ourselves old and realize our freedom has come and gone.
My grandma is on a slippery road right now… First it was congestive heart failure and now she is in the ICU and is suffering from pneumonia… Its not good.
I see her laying in a bed with a horrible mask on her face so she can breathe – and my heart breaks… the woman who prided herself on looking amazing and put together is nothing more than a frail body in an ugly hospital gown… and I know all she wants is to die.
Before she was admitted into the ICU yesterday she had spent a week in a nursing home and I was forced to look mortality in the face… All of these human beings asleep in wheel chairs in the hallway… basically awaiting for the inevitable.
For them, the hallmark cards aren’t even funny anymore.
We believe that age defines us – whether it be what we are capable of or what we no longer have – and in the end none of that really matters.
As the inevitable approaches my grandma is sane enough to talk about her belongings and if we are able to move her to an assisted living place – she said what she wanted to take along.. two little statues, some sparkly pins that I gave her and her three scrapbooks of pictures.
Wow, right?
All those years spent wanting to be old and then wanting to be young and all she wants now are a few things she could have had at any age.
I guess laughing at those cards is truly a blessing – finding humor in what age does to us – is a coping mechanism – denying that we are actually getting old is just a smokescreen for our fear of what comes next…
But in truth, aging is a natural process – no matter how we try to avoid it – it sneaks up on us… and instead of running from it – we need to find ways to embrace it – to look upon it with respect and to revel in its ultimatum… the alternative is not so glorious.
The wrinkles on our face are signs of the happiness and sorrow we have faced. The grey hair a reminder of the wisdom we have acquired. The fullness in our hearts the love we have experienced.
We get only one chance at this life we have – and as you watch someone come to the end of theirs – it seems rather unfortunate to realize you have spent much of your own worrying about how old you are.
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