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I’ve been moving through life with a blissful ignorance of time’s relentless march. Yes, I’ve watched my children grow and tackle new challenges, and I’m excited for their journeys. My parents have always been there to witness these milestones, and I cherish their presence. Yet, it dawned on me recently that my parents are not as youthful as they once were.
Not long ago, I had to take my father to urgent care. Thankfully, it was nothing serious, but that experience hit me like a ton of bricks: my parents are aging, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it. When you find yourself filling out medical forms for your dad, noting his medications and family health history, it gives you pause. The man who used to tower over everyone and could fix anything now relies on you for support, and it feels surreal.
Parents are supposed to care for their children; they possess the wisdom and experience we lean on. They’re the ones who bring you chicken soup when you’re ill and take care of your newborn so you can catch up on sleep. They host Sunday family dinners and maintain the home that feels like a sanctuary. They are the glue binding us together. It’s hard to confront the idea that time is fleeting, and the thought of life without them is unbearable. Yet, standing in urgent care, my heart ached with that reality.
My parents are not old; they’re in their late sixties and early seventies, with plenty of life ahead of them. This isn’t an immediate crisis—there’s no terminal illness. But life is unpredictable. Both of my grandmothers lived into their nineties, and my grandfather on my dad’s side enjoyed a long life in his eighties. However, my maternal grandfather passed away at just 56. I’ve always chosen to ignore that fact, unwilling to face the possibility that my mother might not reach 100. Just writing that brings tears to my eyes. I’m not prepared.
Looking back at old photos, it’s clear that everyone has aged. Yet, I don’t perceive my parents as old. Maybe it’s just me, but when I was a child, grandparents were perceived as elderly, with gray hair and “senior” fashions. I refuse to let my mother fall into that stereotype. The moment she mentions something from the Alfred Dunner collection, I redirect her. No elastic waistband culottes on my watch!
In truth, I don’t need to work hard to keep my mom feeling young; she does that effortlessly. She’s deeply involved in her ten grandchildren’s lives, stays active, eats healthily, and enjoys socializing. My dad is more susceptible to the senior lifestyle, but she keeps him engaged. Nevertheless, they’re embracing their “silver citizen” status. You bet they take full advantage of any discount for those over 65. As my father would say, “Absolutely, I’m getting that discount! I’ve earned it.” And after 72 years, he certainly has.
While I want my parents to remain vibrant and active, I sometimes realize I might be pushing them too hard. At 42, I can keep up a hectic schedule from morning until night, but my mother often reminds me, “You might not want to believe it, but I’m getting older. I get tired.” She’s right, and accepting that is a struggle for me.
I want to savor the time I have with my parents. I refuse to think, “While I can,” as that feels too morbid. Instead, I’ll enjoy every moment. I won’t turn down any dinner invitations or afternoons by the pool. I’ll take my mother shopping and laugh as she tries on clothes over her outfit, asking for my opinion. I’ll practice patience when they struggle with new technology that seems simple to me. I’ll listen intently to their stories from years past because they’re the only ones who can share those memories. I’ll treasure long hugs, forehead kisses, and my favorite words, “I love you, Jamie.”
I hope my parents live to see 100. If they do, they’ll witness their grandchildren grow, marry, and perhaps welcome great-grandchildren. They are the best parents I could have asked for, exemplifying love, sacrifice, and hard work. Each day together is a gift, and I intend to embrace every moment. They were there when I needed them, and I’ll be there for them until they no longer need me.
Someday, saying goodbye will be inevitable, but I won’t dwell on that now. I’m just not ready for that … but then again, who really is?
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Summary
As I reflect on my parents aging, I find myself grappling with the reality of their mortality. Despite their relatively young age, the thought of life without them is daunting. I cherish every moment spent with them, from simple dinners to heartfelt conversations. While I wish for their longevity, I recognize the importance of living in the present and embracing the time we have together.
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