Let Me Grow Old

Twenty-five minutes ago I was a relatively fit 37-year-old.

Every visit from her progeny always had the same element:  They huddled and whispered among themselves. Their whispers might have been shouts, since Nancy already knew what bothered them so much.

Mom is so frail!...I didn't know she looked so old...What happened?...Is she okay?...

Well, Nancy knew that answer also: I am older. Every time you fly from across the world, when you walk in the door, when I rise to hug you, your face tells me everything.  When did you change, when did you become an old woman?

Hobbling over to the desk, where an old computer awaited, Nancy groaned in pain. Pushing away stacks of her volumes of writing, Nancy sighed and began typing.

To all my children,

I love you. I have always and will always love you.  

You have to do something for me. You must let me grow old. 

Do not be surprised that I am no longer 37 years old. That was the age when I was in charge of you and put up with all your angst.

Then, I drove you to school, to piano lessons, wherever you needed. I drove to teach and love someone else's children. Afterwards, I turned on my old Honda Civic, picked you up and we headed  home in silence. You were mad at me, mad at a friend, or just plain mad.

Those were the years I held you in prayer and helped you work through life. You either loved me or hated me, or both. But I was strong, I was 37 years old. In your mind, I was almost immortal.

You packed up boxes of your stuff, tossed them in my old Honda Civic and headed out to your own life. There were still boxes left behind which would stay in our garage until your dad died.

I moved. Into an old people community. You moved, as well. I sent your boxes to GoodWill. You gave me grandchildren, from across the world. 

They grew up as I grew old. Their years which passed were the also my years that passed.

And now, I am old.

So, ask your questions. Ask about those years when I was 37 or 27 or 17.  I have stories to tell, and unless you ask, I can't tell them. If you don't want them, stories stay silent. You are 37, too busy to listen or maybe to care.

Let me grow old. Do not be surprised that I am old. Please, just love me as I head into this last stage of life.

Love, Mom

Nancy pushed save again, and then print, and then send.  

Well. Nancy rose to her feet with a groan. Every joint hurt. She grabbed a bag of towels and took off in her new golf cart. Water aerobics always helped and after a swim, she would sit down with her friends to play bunco. Good friends. 

They were old, too.

Time

Back When We Were Invincible

Lumbar region

As I stretch out on my recliner with ice packs on my lower right back, I recall the day I damaged my right lumbar vertebra.  It was January 12, 1987, when a rare ice storm had blanketed our town, leaving everything damp and slippery. 

Walking down stone steps carrying items for breakfast, my right foot slipped up and my right buttock slammed down.  It hit the steps hard, along with other parts as I rolled on down.

The resulting bruise was the size of a legal-sized envelope and as black as black could be.  Can't describe the pain, which lasted for a long time.  And now, thirty-one years later, I recline with ice pack on L-3 and a bottle of Ibuprofen on the counter. Didn't go to the doctor because the roads were impassable for three days. And doctors in Ireland were one to a town. A nurse friend looked at it, frowned and said to head to hospital if I felt a moving pain up, a clot.

Not black as black like mine

But this post is not about me.  It about all who live in this retirement community who also manage to experience their own ice packs and pain.

Lewis Pearce, an eighty-eight year old gentleman and friend, has had three knee surgeries. Walking with a cane, Lewis lights up when he relays what he enjoyed so much when he was eighteen. "I went skating every night and man, could I skate!" He could circle the rink, leaning over at the curve and sliding his hand along the floor. "I was as slick as that polished floor! And it was worth these crippled knees!"

Other residents talk about swing dancing at the USO every night.  One woman had a huge garden every year and drove a tractor to plow up the soil.  Another man rode a Harley, even after he skid out. Others did... They loved those experiences which enriched their lives and gave them memories about which to smile.

The worst was my mother, who worked alongside my father on the farm.  She did the work of a man.  In the last years of her life, I swear every bone in her body throbbed from over use and arthritis.  But this put food on her table for her family. She was invincible back then.

We all were young, thinking we were almost invincible.  And maybe we were in our own perspective.  And, it was worth it. 

Except for the fall where my fall has taken me out after many years, letting me know that I was young once, but even right after that, I was invincible in my own way.

Anyone out there who once knew invincibility?

Music is Eternal

In the music world, what is super popular comes and goes.  Do you remember any peculiar one-hit wonder?  Do you remember a group that came out strong, with a string of weak hits, and then disappeared?

Music has those in weak lines of music, and music has the eternal, immortal music that reverberates with every generation.

Beethoven’s 5^th? Handel’s Messiah?

How about Les Miserable?

The above is "Bring him home" from a concert presentation. Not everyone has seen this performance, sung by Colm Wilkinson, the original Jean ValJean. The four tenors below have also held the role of Jean ValJean.   

Will this join the legendary music of the past?  I sure hope so. How can it not?

 I hope you can access this site: 17 Tenors from around the world