39 Forever

(The following is an essay for my English Composition class. While originally I was going to write my descriptive essay on a place, it soon became evident to me that this subject matter was not going to leave me alone until I wrote it. This is a true story.)




39 Forever


Getting older has always bothered me.

I look around at those who are my age, and I see women who do not look as I do. I see no flaws in their skin while the injustice of bumpy middle age acne has taken a toll on my complexion, my once creamy and youthful skin now battle scarred and pocked. Their hair doesn’t show the silvery gray that seems to scream from the top of my head. Their bodies--while having similar experiences as mine--have shrunk back to a youthful shape, while my weight keeps hanging on as if it is afraid to let me go.

Of course, I do understand that many of these women who share my age have cheated it somehow with diet, exercise, hair dye and surgery. Sometimes it is hard to remember that while these women have busted their behinds in the gym for hours at a time, and suffered through wheat grass shakes, tofu this, and no-flavor that, I have enjoyed food that tasted good and was less self absorbed about how I looked. I am certain that the love of my husband has not helped my cause either. I am somehow cursed to have a man who thinks I am beautiful and young, in spite of the extra weight or the gray roots in my hair. Actually, I know how lucky I am to have him, but his blindness to my faults makes it easier for me to just let myself go. Poor me, that I am so loved.

The year I turned thirty was excruciating for me. I sunk into a deep depression. So deep, in fact, that I often would lay on the sofa squeezing my eyes so tightly shut that I would start to have a headache at my temples. I would lie so quietly and still, holding my lungs full of air and with my hands clasped below my breast, imagining what it would be like to be dead and on display for everyone to view. I could almost hear the sounds of a funeral—the soft music playing in the background, almost drowned out by the murmurs of mourners whispering and crying. I could feel the occasional person peering right at me, poking my body or touching my face, while I lay on silk and in my finest clothing. I could even imagine someone saying how good I looked, even though it is ridiculous to say. No one looks good when they are dead. It is not a good way to be.

I would lay there for hours, sometimes falling asleep to forget the morbidity and absurdity of the ritual. Other times, I would wallow in my self pity, allowing my left hand to eventually slip from the prayerful grip of the right hand, to fall to the side of the sofa and have my fingers graze the floor.

My two children were small when I was thirty. Fortunately for them, they had no idea their mother was on the razor’s edge of sanity at times with worry about getting older and having death come knocking on the door. They just wanted their mommy.

Sometimes the quiet of the funereal ritual would be punctured by the cries of a small child waking from a nap. At those times, I often abandoned by self pity rather quickly and could forget for awhile what it was that had me so low. I could go to my child and function as a mother. The beautiful thing about children, even as they get older, is they love their mother unconditionally. My kids never let me point out my shortcomings, no matter how true they may be.

My husband was aware of my despair, though he knew nothing of me lying on the sofa for a good portion of the afternoon. He was helpless in his quest to try to make me feel better about my age, so he gave up discussing it in hopes that my obsession with my age would vanish into thin air. Eventually, it did take a back seat to life in general. Thanks to the unyielding love of my little family, somehow I got past those dark days at thirty.

In my thirties, I eventually abandoned the ritual, and was able to work, play, and enjoy life. My kids were growing and changing, and I threw myself into life with gusto. So much so that I got nominated to chair our class reunion committee and plan our 20th reunion. The reunion was amazing, and went off without a hitch. Life was pretty good for awhile.

As I began to face forty, I had a bone crushing fear in my heart that I would once again succumb to the darkness that nearly swallowed me whole a decade earlier. I started to assess my life, trying to figure out what proactive steps I could take to be able to outwit my crazy imagination and be able to live through another milestone birthday.

I did what everyone does when they are facing a mid-life crisis and I impulsively decided to quit my job and head back to school. I had been working in healthcare as a nursing assistant for seventeen years, and just could not face another year of being stagnant. I did love the people I worked with, but with no desire to become a nurse, I felt that the toll the job had taken on my body over the years was enough. I was beginning to feel my age with the herniated disc in my back howling at me to quit, and the arthritis in my neck and shoulder flaring up to remind me that I wasn’t twenty anymore. I needed to do something with my mind, to prove to myself I could still do it before it was too late.

School has been a blessing and a curse for me. While it has made me even more aware of my age, it has shown me that old dogs can learn new tricks. I have gained some self respect because my brain is still intact and working very well. But, I am continually surrounded by those young people who are just out of high school, all youthful and carefree. I find myself wishing I had done more to retain my youth when I am in their presence. I find myself feeling out of place and uncomfortable with my age at times, in spite of my intelligence and experience. I thought that school would help me get over the problem I was having with getting older, but I was dead wrong. It would take something more severe for me to realize that aging is okay.

I got a text message from my best friend from high school on a recent Friday morning that said a classmate of ours was killed in an accident. While I was not friends with this woman, she was a member of our class and we do have some common friends. Of course, my reaction was “OMG!” and I wanted details so that I could pass them along to other members of our class so that they may extend their condolences to her family.

I remember looking at this lady’s Facebook page over the years. She was even more beautiful than she was in high school. She was still very athletic and fit. While I didn’t share those qualities with her, we did have things in common. We were both married, and our children are about the same age. We both were very active in our children’s lives, and in our communities. While I felt unattractive in comparison with this lady, I felt a kinship with her as a mom and wife. It seemed very unfair that in our fortieth year, we would have to say goodbye to this vibrant woman. It was very poignant and sad, and really hit close to home for me, and a few of my friends. I realized that she had attained something that I was wishing for, by dying. She would be 39 forever.

I attended her funeral to pay respects to her family, and to represent our graduating class. As I began to sit through the service, I was very uneasy. I was so uncomfortable that my arms felt like they were in the way. I tried hanging them limp at my sides, and when that felt unnatural, I crossed them over my chest, which seemed out of place. I really could not figure out how to even just sit on a pew in a church. I felt as if I was intruding on something very private and sacred, and I thought I could feel people staring at me. Of course, no one cared what I was doing. They were all there to support her survivors and pay their respects.

Once the service got going, I felt like I got to know her a little bit more through the stories about her that her cousin shared. I felt sorry that I didn’t know her better. I watched her husband and her two children seated several rows ahead of me. The pain on their faces was evident. Her husband looked so empty and older than his years as he attempted to console his children as their mother lay dead in the box before them. I could not imagine how to comfort a child in the loss of her mother, when he surely must have felt cheated at the loss of his partner and best friend as well. There are no words in the world that could make it better for any of them. In that moment I could easily imagine my husband and my children sitting there instead of this other family, and the destruction it would cause in their lives if it were me in the coffin. A chill ran down my spine, and I felt relieved for having the ability to continue aging.

Instantly, at a funeral, the revelation that I get to be present for the celebration of my life at forty cast aside the gnawing fear of growing older that I carried around for so long. I feel bad that it took attending a classmate’s funeral to figure it out, but I am choosing to see it as a gift from this lady I barely knew. Even though I still carry the extra weight on my frame, my skin and teeth are not perfect, and my hair is not my natural color anymore, I will embrace my life and every day that I have to live it. Life is too short to wallow in the what-ifs, and comparisons to others. I am grateful that I was able to figure it out before it was too late.



(Thank you to Amy Nelson Rogers, for making me see the light...God Bless and Rest in Peace)

Life just happens to you when you are busy making other plans...

Thank you to the late John Lennon for the title of this post...

Life does just happen, and it gets really busy when it does.

Lately, small things make me sit back and really reflect. Things that seem insignificant enough, but somehow warrant more attention to them than what one might think...

For instance:

I met some good, old friends for dinner/drinks a week ago on Thursday. Now, they are not OLD--at least,not older than I am--but I have known these women for better than twenty years. I have not been in constant touch with all of these women in the last twenty years because life does just happen. That said, we have been making more of an effort to try to get together in the past couple of years thanks to our 20th class reunion. I hope the dinner/drinks thing happens even more often now, though, because I really enjoyed spending time with these ladies. I can be myself around all of them. That is definitely a good thing.

And I haven't laughed like that in a very long time!!

How does this go to my "something that warrants more attention" you may ask?

Well, I have been reflecting on it this past week.

I spent much of the last twenty years after high school trying to figure out who I am and what I want to do. I have wasted a good portion of that time hiding out. What I mean by that is I often do not step out of my comfort zone and let myself just be ME. I worried too much in the past about what others may think about me and my life.

The conclusion I have drawn from this is that I am not that much different from these old friends. Sure, we have had varying life experiences, but I do belong and matter.

I will say that again. I do belong and matter.

In my past, I have felt worthless. I have felt shame for who I am and things I have or have not done. This was not imposed on me by others, it was an internal thing.

Sick, sick...sick.

We definitely are harder on ourselves than other people are.

In this one dinner/drinks "girls nite", I realized that I often do not give myself credit and I guess I forgot how it felt to be a part of a group. I had a pretty active social life when I was in high school and into my twenties. Somewhere along the way, life happened and I did lose that "social" piece of me.

Once upon a time, in spite of some of the trials in life, I was basically a happy-go-lucky person. I have determined I want to be that person again.

Life happens, but it is too short to wallow in the hard and bad times. Yes, you must acknowledge them, and you must learn from them. But, you also must move on.

I guess 2011 is that year for me. Growth, change...moving on.

Of course, I am still going to ponder, and process...because I am a work in progress. But I have decided it is time to just have a little more fun. Enjoy my family, my friends, my classes, everything.

Here's to more girl's nites and to other fun things to remember why life is so good.

Me? A positive attitude?

Sure, with a side of sarcasm. After all, I am trying to be more genuine! ;)