Vertigo
The mother-in-law of one of my best friends died last week. He's been out of town, and just let me know today. I am very sad for his wife, and for the rest of her children. Unfortunately, it was always a looming possibility, and she was already in an assisted care facility.
Two hours before I got his email, my stepfather, who's been in my life since I was 11, let me know on a beautiful sunsetting Florida beach that the doctors told him the only way he's going to live through the next 10 years is to "pray." He had a stroke about two weeks ago, and while he's okay, aside from massive bruising and exhaustion from the drugs, he has the worst possible scenario for having another stroke. And the next time, it won't be small.
Are we really at this point in our lives? Are we really losing and about to lose parents? I always felt cocooned and comforted by the fact that my parents were the youngest in my class. At barely 50, my father still rides 15-20 miles on his mountain bike without breaking a sweat, my stepfather (52) was at seven percent bodyfat due to exercise and diet (a fact his trainer won't forgive him for), and my mother (who hasn't hit 50) is still mistaken for a woman in her late 30s, as well as as her granddaughter's mother.
As I've been creeping up the age chart, I seem to have forgotten that our parents are as well. Between my precious/precocious children and my parents, I am feeling more and more like the nauseated and vertigo-stricken victim of time.
Two hours before I got his email, my stepfather, who's been in my life since I was 11, let me know on a beautiful sunsetting Florida beach that the doctors told him the only way he's going to live through the next 10 years is to "pray." He had a stroke about two weeks ago, and while he's okay, aside from massive bruising and exhaustion from the drugs, he has the worst possible scenario for having another stroke. And the next time, it won't be small.
Are we really at this point in our lives? Are we really losing and about to lose parents? I always felt cocooned and comforted by the fact that my parents were the youngest in my class. At barely 50, my father still rides 15-20 miles on his mountain bike without breaking a sweat, my stepfather (52) was at seven percent bodyfat due to exercise and diet (a fact his trainer won't forgive him for), and my mother (who hasn't hit 50) is still mistaken for a woman in her late 30s, as well as as her granddaughter's mother.
As I've been creeping up the age chart, I seem to have forgotten that our parents are as well. Between my precious/precocious children and my parents, I am feeling more and more like the nauseated and vertigo-stricken victim of time.