DECEMBER OF HER YEARS

Mom is getting old! At 95, I guess we can’t expect anything else but the sadness that comes with a woman and her sharp wit, and her body breaking down. Being an independent woman when Dad passed, she now is facing new challenges, probably the last ones in her life.

It started with Mom’s knee then her back and then a buildup of fluid in her legs and now congestive heart failure she is quickly breaking down. There was a song by Robbie Williams:

"It Was A Very Good Year"

When I was seventeen, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for small town girls and soft summer nights.
We'd hide from the light on the village green when I was seventeen.

When I was twenty-one, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for city
girls who lived up the stairs
With perfume hair that came undone
when I was twenty-one.

When I was thirty-five, it was a very good year.
It was a very good year for blue-blooded
girls of independent means.
We'd ride in limousines. Their chauffeurs
would drive when I was thirty-five.

But now the days are short, I'm in the
autumn of the year
and now I think of my life as vintage
wine from fine old kegs
From the brim to the dregs. It poured
sweet and clear. It was a very good year

The doctor keeps prescribing new medications, and changes old ones. Nothing seems to be taking hold. She has one doctor visit after another and still things are getting ‘not better’. She has many medical minds in her pool of medical helpers, all say the same thing: “She is 95!”

I guess the crime is that we all must face the deterioration of our bodies as we age. Instead of enjoying the wisdom we gather along with the memories, we deal with pain, slowness and fear of losing our minds. How sad.

She is the oldest of three sisters and the sole survivor. She raised five children, four beautiful daughters and watched the family grow and prosper. She waded through personal tragedies from when she was a child and always had a smile, a laugh and sometimes a pleasant song on her lips and love is always present in her heart. And when there were great moments of joy, she was quietly watching the events unfold, usually with a family gathering she prepared in food and wine.

Nowadays I visit her often, don’t tell her about my problems, but listen to hers. Yet she insist on asking me what’s new, and that is how she always is, looking out for what’s new. She will give me details about doctor procedures, a recipe and maybe even a mention of some political question: she still engages, still speaks her mind and still has opinions. Her mind is way ahead of her body.

I know as do my sisters that the day is coming, as it will for all of us, but I hope when it does come, it will be a peaceful day for her.