The ability to laugh at one's self makes the inevitable marker of aging in women— menopause— much more tolerable. If you can't find the humor in hot flashes, get a snicker out of night sweats, or giggle at vaginal dryness you're in for long, wrinkled road. Laughter makes unpalatable things palatable.
One thing that's not so funny about aging, though, is that the people you love age right along with you. Parents. I've been really fortunate so far in that both my mother and my father, who will both be 83 this spring, have enjoyed a healthy, active life overall. Recently, however, the inevitible has begun to creep up in what was once just a dark distance. My father's health has suffered in the last 18 months to the melancholoy tune of three major surgeries--the last of which has him still in the hospital, his once nimble mind and bouyant spirit sorely compromised as his body struggles to recover. Through this process I've been forced to accept the truth: my parents are in the last stage of their lives.
I am reminded of a birthday card I have in my stack of cards (I collect them just to make sure I always have one ready for any occasion, but I invariably end up going out to buy one for every occasion.) It's a crudely drawn cartoon of a car barreling down a one-lane highway and trailing behind visible in the car's rear view mirror is the Grim Reaper, hood, scythe and all. The captions reads: "Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear. Happy Birthday."
I've had that card for years. I thought it was really funny once. Now it's just sad. And true.
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