Dear Life,
I woke up last Wednesday morning and thought to myself, "Today, I'm 50 years old, how in the hell did I get so old? Where did the years go?" I felt my face for new wrinkles. I wiggled my fingers and toes to make sure I could still move around with no problem, I tried to check my cell phone without my glasses and discovered that the Birthday Fairy did not grant one of my wishes. *sighs* So, I got out of bed and attempted to see if I was still flexible by trying to bend over and touch my toes. The Birthday Fairy is now 0 for 2. Little does she know that she’s slowly working her way to the top of my shit list. I made my way to the bathroom to examine my face in the mirror. No new wrinkles, no new laugh lines and my boobs are still where they’re supposed to be and not hanging down to my knees. Two points for the Birthday Fairy.
I tell myself over and over again that age is just a number. Admittedly, I silently chuckled to myself the week before when KJ turned 50 and he acted as if the world had ended and his life had come to a grinding, screeching halt. I found myself wondering how turning 50 has the power to freak people out and have them hiding under the covers and shutting themselves away from the outside world until the day is long over and the sun has risen the next morning.
For myself, and yes, I was a bit on the unhappy side about turning 50, I think it's because I lost my dad to cancer a month after he turned 53. I was barely 22 and at the time I thought that 53 was old and he had lived a long time. My mom became a widow at the age of 50. I couldn’t imagine becoming a widow at 50; KJ and I still have so much life to enjoy. I certainly have a new perspective on the year my dad passed away and left my mom a widow at such a young age. Anyway, when this happens to your parents, as you approach that age, your imagination has the ability to run wild. And mine did. A teeny bit.
It’s now been a week since I turned half a century old (and putting it that way, well yeah, that's pretty damn old!) and I realize that I still have a lot of years left in me. I don’t feel 50. I certainly hope that I don’t look 50.
I do, however, realize just how young my dad really was when he died. I often think of all the events that have transpired since his death - the wonderful things that cancer stole from him and from us - the joy of knowing his 7 grandchildren & watching them grow up, high school graduations, college graduations, future weddings and future great-grandchildren . . .
I've been told that 50 is the new 30 and that, my friends, puts a big cheesy smile on my face, but only because I’m remembering my 30's. Okay, so maybe I’m remembering my 20’s, too. Makes me wonder if I can still do certain things the way I could when I was in my 30's. hmmm......
But for now, I think I’ll go have a glass of wine and celebrate my birthday... again and when KJ gets home, I’ll have a bit of a dance and a bit of a welcome home kiss and remind him that even at 50, we can still do those things we did at the age of 30.
Hell, who am I kidding? I’ll be sound asleep on the couch when he walks in the door.
