I am about to nudge up against my three score and and ten years, an accumulation of years that somehow officially declare my arrival in old age.
I have never worried much about aging. One year follows another. But as the time arrives, it suggests that the time has come to take time to reflect on it.
My reflection in any mirror tells a story. The silver threads are definitely there among the gold. My face has a fullness, that I see in the photographs of the face of my paternal grandmother. I don't worry about wrinkles, as long as I earn the smile wrinkles, I have cherished in so many of the older women I love.
My mother lived exactly one hundred and a half years. Many were challenging years, but I am sure she would say the challenging years were also happy years. She loved being a grandma.
As the years tallied up, even my mother questioned the soundness of of her lifelong appreciation for fresh air, organic food and plenty of exercise that had served her living so well. Her extended lifespan had separated her from her generation of family and friends. She was not pleased. A compatriot told her she had to wait for her invitation to join them. She was only slightly amused.
Time is priceless at all times through life. Perhaps it is only as we get older we understand the value. I have also noticed in some of the very old I have loved, time seems to slow down. A day is too long to hold so much loneliness.
So it is time for me to set aside things over which I have no control, and focus on things I can do something about. Life is challenging and life is good.
I am most thankful that I am a grandma. One of my biggest regrets is that my young Toronto granddaughters have not been able to share in my everyday life and I in theirs. My impish little grandson is not so far away
I hope I can fill my time well and celebrate life, even if I have to celebrate with some from a distance.
After all love, laughter, companionship should have no boundaries
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