A woman who has known me my entire life is slowly (and hopefully peacefully) exiting from this mortal coil as I write this. She is an old family friend from our days on the gold mines and now here, a geologist’s wife, like my mother. A sweet, tiny, lady, she was always proper. She has been ill for a while, and struggling, and is now going to her peace.
While our families are not incredibly close, they’ve shared births, weddings, divorces, the everyday ups-and-downs of families growing up, moving out, moving up and they’ve been around. The news devastated me this morning when I heard it, crushing my heart, making it hard to breathe.
The reality of facing the fact that we’re all getting old(er) and, with that, our parents are getting even older. My parents are in their seventies and are healthy for their age, for which I am hugely grateful, but the fact is: they’re getting old. And I hate that.
It’s one of those things you don’t want to mention, to talk about, or even think about. As if, if you admit it aloud, it’ll somehow shift things in the universe and make it sit up and take notice, start tallying years, think about what to do next. As if, if we just sit quietly in a corner, and pretend it’s not happening, we’ll just get away with it and we can just carry on, as is, forever. Healthily and productively.
If only it were that easy.
Go well, Pam, may you find your peace.