I created the enormity of the milestone in my head -- I realize this. Everyone, if they are lucky, turns 50, so it doesn't make me any more special. What I was trying to achieve was that to me, it wasn't a horrible thing. I know plenty of people my age (hahahaha) who suddenly speak with an aura of ageism that I tend to cringe from. "We are old now," "gosh I am old," "it sucks getting old," and so on. These are not phrases I permit in my vocabulary because I am not old. Therefore, I wanted to take the opportunity of this birthday and make a big splash and show a different approach to turning 50.
I traveled, which was my intent, but the first trip to Mexico was shadowed by the death of Peter's father despite everyone's attempts to make it otherwise. The death of a parent is a milestone as well, and it's not fair to carry on as though it never happened. I could see a collision of milestones -- a 50th birthday, a death, a wedding -- and realized that this is life. It seems as though we go through life not really able to completely immerse ourselves in the great events of our lives because we are just too damn busy. I thought that at this stage of my life maybe I would have more time to process events as they happened, but as I look back over the past year, I realize that's not what happened.
The next trip to New Mexico for another wedding and a fabulous balloon ride with Hallie and Jeff took place only a few weeks after my own father's death. Or passing, or whatever phrase makes you feel comfortable. At that point I was pretty messed up, but managed to pull it together and I was thinking that I was doing the "fake it until you make it" thing really well until I realized that I had totally and completely messed up on when our return flight was -- and thankfully discovered it in time enough to jump out of bed, pack, return the rental car and get on the plane, where at last I took a deep breath and wondered how the hell I let that happen. It was so unlike me. SO UNLIKE ME.
It was clearly a symptom of repressing what was really going on and just carrying on -- when in fact, I was in no shape to do so. Last summer Peter and I lived with his mother at the lake, in the small cottage, partly because we love the lake and the cottage, but mostly because we didn't want her to be alone after losing her husband only a few months before. It was fine in the earlier weeks when she was somewhat disoriented and learning how to be someone she'd never been before, but as her strength grew, so did the apparent colliding of two strong women's ideas of just about everything! But I repressed my feelings and carried on. And I do want to point out that our relationship is great -- but we are essentially two generations apart, she could be my mother's mother -- and I grew up entirely different than Peter did and the constant focus on meals has worn my patience down to a very sharp sword.
I did not explode, but when his sister insisted we vacate the cottage in order to have a "friends weekend," it was kind of the proverbial last straw that smashed the camel's back. I could go on ad nauseum about the inequity of the cottage world -- where Peter does EVERYTHING and everyone else shows up unannounced most of the time and look for food and fun, but I won't -- because I am letting it all go. And with that comes the realization that that would be impossible if we moved in for the summer. And quite frankly, Peter's mother at 92 is in better shape than half the people decades younger than she is. She doesn't need to be taken care of -- that is her role, she likes to take care of people, and right now I personally need to take care of myself.
Navigating all of this is taking up far too much time, and there is a burning inside of me that is actually literal as well as figurative. All of the things that I have read about peri-menopause is coming to fruition for me -- I am letting the old go and seeking out the new. I don't want to be anyone's full time mother, or dutiful daughter-in-law or, or, or, or ... or anything I was I guess!
After my father's death I assisted my mother in cleaning up loose ends, dealing with insurance, all of the things that go along with someone's death, and that was fine, but then I noticed she was actually waiting for me to get things done. My mother is not old -- she is 72 -- and more than capable of taking care of herself. She just didn't want to. Here I am, at 51, looking at a 72-year-old and a 92-year-old and thinking, I will not be either of you. They are my role models for everything I don't want to be -- and this is not an insult to either of them -- it is just my truth. I do, however, want to be parts of them. I want the financial freedom that my mother has to travel and really do anything she wants and I want the physical and mental agility that Peter's mother has -- and having watched her all of these years, I understand fully the impact of regular exercise and the need to have a purpose.
But her purpose really, really, really doesn't fit my needs now. She wants to feed us, she wants to tie us down and have us commit to meals and while that seems completely reasonable, my burning fire inside roars into life at the thought of it. I DO NOT WANT TO BE TIED DOWN! I do not want to do anything I don't want to do -- I am like a two-year-old ... I am egocentric and obstinate and I don't care how my actions affect others!
And I ask myself, don't I deserve this? That wonderful, happy-go-lucky year of celebrating 50 really kind of sucked. The first half was shadowed by Peter's father's death and then turning our world upside down and living at the cottage and not spending or devoting any time to my own house, yard and garden, or Maddie, who will not stay at the cottage, which was frustrating, and then spiraling right into my father's illness and subsequent death. The only shining beacon in a year of darkness was our amazing and life altering trip to Hawaii -- where we gelled as a family unit in such a way that I realized, they were all I needed!
So this is my year -- this is the year of deep awakening, of spiritual practice, of shedding the weight of years of obligation and empathy and truly thinking that people need help. I don't think anyone really needs help to the degree that I think that they do -- I don't think in the end it really helps all that much. That must come from my ego, which has thankfully been taken over by that two-year-old who doesn't care if anyone needs help or won't shut up because they are driving everyone nuts. It's burning inside me, raw, deep, guttural, flames licking up my throat, lava spewing out of my pores -- I am ready to pitch a fit at any moment -- I am powerfully powerless of my actions, I am openly open to new paradigms -- I don't want to grow old taking care of my family, I want to grow old with them, playing with them, watching them fail and succeed and letting them make the mistakes they choose because that's what living is all about.
So pull up a chair and sit by my fire. I will keep you warm, but I won't go out for anyone.
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