I’ll be 35 in roughly 10 days. I don’t approach aging with any kind of fear, at least, not my own aging. My son getting older however, that’s a different perspective. But back to my birthday….because that’s what’s happening soon.
I’ve had at least half a dozen people ask me what I have planned..two years ago I planned a birthday party and it was fun..but I passed out quickly because of a certain shot pusher that attended the party. (Rebecca)
I guess it is a benchmark…let me be real for a moment – I never expected to live this long. I honestly thought that I would die by the time I was 30 (this was my thinking as a teenager nowhere near 20). Then my son was conceived and I discovered that little life would be part of mine…and I was forever changed. I had purpose and goals and something to prove! Let’s not talk about the goals and if they were met, but let’s do talk about that same boy – who is nearly a man now and talks like I did when I was his age, moody like I was and definitely has that same scowly face that I used to give my parentals.
So yeah…35 is creeping up on me…and I have no plans yet…I halfway want to just stay home, get drunk and spend the day in my jammies. How sad is that?
Today would have been my grandmother’s birthday…she was the one who actually called me SAM and we called her Wheezer…she was a smoker, cantankerous and had the biggest smile for most everyone. She was my Dad’s mom and had a rough go of it being a single mom.
She always made me feel very important to her and there weren’t and haven’t been a lot of people that have done that for me. In her declining years, it broke my heart when she couldn’t remember my name, and her memories started to fade. I struggled with it a lot. Much like I do now, since my Dad is showing these signs. I swallow it a lot easier than I did then, I suppose age will do that to you. I suppose the fact that my Dad hasn’t always been all that nice to me is part of it too.
When I was a teenager and wanted to run away to live with him, to feel some sense of a normal life – he told me no. That there was no room for me. You can’t imagine how badly that hurt me. After knowing that he’d signed his rights away when I was 8, much to the prodding of my mother – I know – and then refusing to give me some semblance of normalcy when my mom went to the looney bin for the third time in my life. I can’t even pretend I’ve ever gotten over that. Don’t get me wrong…I do love my Dad, there have also been a handful of times I’ve asked him for help and he DID, and was my savior in those instances. I do believe at least, that he has always meant well..
Addendum: In rereading this post, when I ended it, there were several thoughts in my head, bringing me to tears and I couldn’t bear to write more at the time. I want to add that I feel that I am most like my grandmothers, as both of my parents were bent on control and control by fear. I believe that Wheezy, my Dad’s mom, knew the circumstances in my life very well and while we never discussed them, I think she inherently knew that I needed her softness, her humor and the strength she hid in her humor. My grandma was a tough lady, and I knew more about that strength after she passed than I ever recognized while she was alive. Sad for me, but I’ve always said that it’s better to see truth later than never. I comicly say that I am a self-improvement junkie – I read mountains of blog posts, articles, etc. on self improvement and the most helpful thing I’ve ever read was “This is It” by Augusten Burroughs. It was a powerful novel and brought me to weeping several times. But they were healing tears and I will no doubt read it countless more times as life is a series of comedy and tragedies that we have to live through.
You don’t struggle with this alone.