My niece and I have been playing a telephone game called Locket. Each day we send a picture of ourselves to each other and sometimes attach a little message to it. She is so breathtakingly beautiful; her pictures are works of art. Me? I am another story. I don't know what it is about that App, but it emphasizes every wrinkle in my face, every pouch under my chin, every circle and puff around my eyes, every sun damaged blemish, every thin gray hair. I rarely wear make-up anymore, so my pictures are the real me. And they make me sad. I am so old, so fat, so wrinkly, so not as I internally picture myself.
And then it hits me like a sledgehammer, that is me. And I am seventy years old. Seventy...where has the time gone?
I can hardly believe I am this old. My body feels it, but my mind keeps me somewhere around late 40's/early 50's. Hell, if I had children, they would be that age. I look at the cute guys in a bar, and the ones I like are somewhere between 40 and 60. The ones my age look like grandpas. Seventy feels ancient, older than sixty or fifty ever did. My friend Larry helped clarify my jumbled feelings. He is a year older than I, and he gets it. Hitting seventy begins the ultimate countdown. How much more time do I have?
My best friend is dying. She has brain cancer. I know I should be glad to be turning seventy because Dee will not see her next birthday. But I am not glad. I am lonely, and sad, and grieving. Growing older may be a privilege, but there's a price to pay. Those who continue, have to live with the grief of loss. I have many happy memories of wonderful adventures that Dee and I shared. She has said it, she lived a good life. But I want more adventures with her. Ok, maybe just more lunches at our favorite restaurants. Never again will we laugh over wine at how stupid I look in a lobster hat. Our adventures are done. I'm seventy and she's only a few years older; that mournful recognition is a part of my birthday. I hate it.
I keep trying to stay active and involved because I learned through Covid that it is very easy for me to hole up in my house and hibernate. My last grand act of trying to keep up with the young ones was to be a part of the ensemble last December for "A Christmas Story" with the Tidewater Players. I was the oldest in the cast, and it showed. I never thought I would learn the three minute dance with the famous fish-netted leg lamp. It was tough enough for me to learn it when we practiced with a stick. Then we got the heavy lamps. Forget it! But, I did not give up. I did most of that dance correctly and with a smile on my face (well, except that one night when a certain diva shoved me out of her way. If the lamp hadn't been so heavy, I'd have beaned her with it.) Anyhow, I can say I DID IT at 69 years old. I danced with a true borrowed from Broadway prop---a leg lamp!! Even though I danced like Lucy Ricardo when she infiltrated Ricky's shows, I did it. (If you are too young to understand the Lucy Ricardo reference, google it.) That was most likely my last time on stage as my old legs can't handle the steps, my old brain has serious issues remembering lines, and there are many others in their forties, fifties, and sixties jumping in to play the old lady roles. Yet another stage (ha ha that's a pun) of the ultimate countdown.
The oddest thing happened to me as I attended yet another funeral last Saturday. (I have a witness, so this really happened.) A tiny little woman needed to pass by me. I smiled at her as I moved over, and out of nowhere she said, "You are beautiful." I thanked her and laughingly told Gay Lynn that one doesn't hear that every day. But it has stayed with me all week, and made me smile. Me? Beautiful? LOL The poor woman probably had cataracts. How could she say that to me? I am so old, so not beautiful. So headed for the ultimate countdown.
Both of my parents died when they were eighty. I carry the weight of this knowledge as I approach my seventieth birthday in the next hour. Do I at least have ten more years left? Will they feel more like ten minutes as time flies by?
Probably some of you believe this line of thinking is a terrible way to approach my birthday. You won't hear me vocalize a word of this. I will go through the day with a smile on my face because I'm doing something I like. Unlike others who really know how to do birthdays, I have nothing special planned for a celebration. Tomorrow will be a normal day of our church's food kitchen, then dinner and cards with the girls. Tomorrow will be like every other Friday in my old-lady life. I will spend the day doing what I enjoy as I mark the beginning of the ultimate countdown.
Please, if you wish me a happy birthday, don't hesitate to tag on "and many more." I'll appreciate it.
