Just another day…or IS it?
I have been mulling for two years now about the year my mother turned 59. I heard about it for two years. The year I turned 58 I started thinking about that year of her life. I wanted to think about it the year I turned 58 because the year she turned 58 she thought she was turning 59. She went on all year about being 59. It must have been a big deal, the last year of that decade for her. I am pretty sure I was not the only person who listened to her rant over that 365 day period.
The next birthday when she actually turned 59 was a very exciting one for her. She had another year to be 59. Imagine getting a whole year back in your life. I swear; she was so excited I heard about it frequently over the next 365 days.
Not much rattled my mother. She was always prepared for any outcome. Plan A was not good enough to bank on, you had to have at least a plan B as well. Imagine how silly she must have felt when she counted backwards to 1918 in 1977 and realized she had not counted backwards on her last birthday to verify her actual age. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt for probably not actually feeling silly. 1976 was not the best year for my family.
Turning 60 is not a big deal anymore. Back in the day living past 49 was an achievement. I don’t feel attached to the numbers my years on earth represent. I still feel inside like I am 18. Maybe it’s the pain pills I get to take every day to keep the arthritis at bay. Maybe it’s just the way it is. I don’t move as fast, I don’t squat or kneel since my knee surgery and I don’t work as hard as I did 20 years ago. But then 20 years ago I was only 40 and my mother was still here to ask me "how old was (he/she?)", the aged person I was griping about who had been driving the car ahead of me and had annoyed me with the fact they were old.
Age is relative. I’m looking forward to this next decade. It’s just another day...or IS it?
Here’s looking at ya Ma! I sure miss you on days like today. ;-D