Three moms rented a house for themselves and those they love. I drove from Sedona to Flagstaff one night to join them.
There were a lot of them and they were paying for the space so I came prepared to sleep on a couch, happy for their company. I had my pillow and sleeping bag and a camping mat just in case all the couches were taken.
Oh, no. That was most certainly not happening.
A not-very-happy-but-extremely-gracious young man gave up his bedroom. The moms dismissed my protestations with that look you give your teenager when she is, unbelievably, stating an absurdity. Each one of them would have slept on the floor before allowing me to do so, no matter how well equipped I happened to be.
And as I stood there, surrounded by their love and their caring, I felt old.
I walked in with the enthusiasm of a college kid on a weekend adventure, couch surfing and hanging out in pj's with my friends. They saw a grandma, someone they could and should cosset and treat with the courtesy due her cronehood.
It was a moment, denizens. It was a very interesting moment.
They may have just wanted to honor you-- not about age. I do think that my late 60s is when my thinking on old age became to become more personal. Up until then, I was middle aged. At a certain point, I knew I was into old age. It's an eyeopener when it happens as we've been more or less the same for age for years and years. Like our teens in reverse ;)
ReplyDeleteI knew I'd hear from you on this!
DeleteYes, it was honoring who I am (and the bullets' detritus) and I loved the hug it sent my way. But it also dispelled any vestige of the college kid I see in the mirror every morning... the one wondering why she has wrinkles :-)
I did think G'ma reverse-aged over the 6 years she was with us here.
a/b