I’m having a staring match with death…
It began about three and half years ago, just before a birthday. It hit me. My dad and older half-brother died at that particular number. Did that mean my time was up? Death came to a screeching halt, turned around, shoved his little pal, Fear of Death in front of me and said, “Eventually, I am going to win.” I’m staring at his ugly hooded shape with my “oh yeah” defying, one eyebrow raised so high, it is almost in my hairline, “I am the mother and if you know what is good for you, you will go to your room, NOW” look. It usually works.
The mighty have fallen with just one glance, stopped in their tracks, and retreat with “she really means it this time” and the ever popular, “you are not the boss of me” last look before stomping off to the bedroom.
“Well, it’s not so bad in there; you have Lego, Matchbox cars and transforming toys.”
My stare needs a booster shot.
Death is an ugly word. Five letters strung together to mean you don’t get to play anymore. Eventually the end is going to show up and win my staring match. Mama is on the mats, still defiant, and very determined to make 95. Her little four foot something Scots grandmother paved the way. Mama is staring death down, tired and very determined to win.
The thing about life is eventually you will die. We all know this. There is an end to this dance, but not before Aging cuts in for his little turn around the dance floor. Aging finally showed up. Death moved over to the sidelines, waiting to cut back in. I’m waving to the bandleader to slow the music down. I want a really slow song.
Aging, the sneaky little devil showed up one day. Un-announced, tapped me on the shoulder, and then gave me a few body blows. I am not down for the count. I am hurt and defiant. I have a few weapons in my arsenal: strong will, (mama), exercise, a really good face cream, genes, (remember mama is heading towards 95 this year), and God. I believe God has the last say and the date. I hope the date is a long way off and the place is NOT sitting in a nursing home. A residence, an assisted living, long-term care, or nursing home, not my idea of fun times ahead, before, I hear the “Well done, good and faithful one.”
I want in my chair, reading, not in a noisy, degrading, no privacy, very bad food and very lonely long-term residence… Please.
In the meantime, I ‘m going to dance the tango. As the Big Guy said yesterday when I asked him if we should take tango lessons; “No, I would be too good at it and then I would have to be in competitions, and then I would have to travel all the time and then I would never get any work done.” Cracked me up. We are the couple who could not remember the fox trot steps from week to week.
I’m off to perfect my stare. Can I raise my eyebrow any higher? Maybe if I put my hands on my hips, narrow my eyes to a flinty stare, Aging and Death will trip and I can get a few shots to their knees and ankles.
Stay warm, stay safe, stay loved. Embrace your life today.