It was a relief to discover that my red-eyed appearance was not an emotional symptom, but rather simply a case of dry eyes that I ignored to the point where my tissues were constantly inflamed. Menopause symptom, likely, and easily addressed by adding Omega 3 and using re-wetting or artificial tear drops as needed. As needed being more often than I remember to administer – but I’ll get there. Thankfully, my constant red eyelids are now just an unpleasant memory.
Granted, I’ve been more likely to reach a silent overwhelm of emotion these days, particularly when I’m in the presence of my children. It makes no sense to me, as these are some of the people with whom I draw the most comfort.
I am rendered nearly speechless, unable to converse comfortably, or sensibly. Some of it is attributed to tinnitus – there are only so many tones that I can focus on without losing part of what’s being heard. Partly, it’s that I don’t want to miss a thing, so I nearly miss everything as I try to focus on every conversation at once. Not as easy a fix – but I’ll be working to find my perfect hearing range so that I can focus to give full-on attention to the conversant in that range.
The part that I can’t change is that I’m full to the brim with love for these people, and am faced with a change in status, for which I have no practice.
Change is a constant in life, and I’ve done a damn fine job of handling change in the past (meaning that I didn’t go on a rampage, and I didn’t have a total meltdown). Change during my earlier years was like drinking water. I gulped it down and on to the next task I went.
About five years ago I noticed a shift, a grating of tectonic plates sort of shift. Suddenly, I found myself irritable with too much change or too many compounded changes. Sure, I could still function well, I could still move on to the next task, but my comfort zone had been impacted, and it unsettled me, irritated me.
Still in the irritable stage, change has been fairly constant, the compounded sort, but I’m functional.
A change in position not aptly prepared for – that sort of change is like a chasm that has opened up beneath me. I’m not prepared for it, but accept that I must either embrace and learn to roll with it, or tumble along grasping recklessly at strongholds along the way.
Mother-in-law, Step-mother-in-law, Grandma, Step-Grandma – these titles, these changes to my position, have caught me off-guard in comparison with my own head-in-the-clouds, prior-concocted expectations.
Let me broadcast with great joy: I have the absolute best of the pick when it comes to family. Our sons were extremely easy to raise, and they chose very well when they chose their mates. I have daughters-in-law whom I love dearly, and they are the perfect complement to our family. Our grandchildren are a pure delight, and their parents are doing a great job raising these youngsters.
My job should be easy, but I’m a perfectionist in the most annoying ways – obsessive about where my everyday use items are situated, persnickety about what I ingest, and particularly overly particular in creating my own expectations.
I want to match expectations that I set long ago. I want to take bits and pieces from others I’ve observed in these positions and meld them into some fantasy figure, based on very little reality. Who could possibly have factored in where I or my family would be in our lives when this particular stage of life arrived?
So I emote silly things based on my silly notions, and get myself all tizzy-frazzled for things that no one else can control.
Compound that with the fact that my mother-in-law died during my second year of marriage, creating a void where I could have learned a great deal. My mentor is absent, that’s my excuse…
So I’m forging ahead in uncharted territory, with great hope that I won’t injure any relationships, step on anyone’s feelings, or cause any great distress; yet keep in mind my own emotional health and well-being.
Oh, and did I mention I’m menopausal? 😉
Each year, another notch of unrest strikes at my aging body.
During the early years of marriage, our primary difference was where our ‘dream’ home was located. He said humid Texas and I said rocky Colorado. He loved the moist heat and I loved the dry cold.
As an easy compromise, we remained in Kansas. Hot humid summers and cold-ass winters. Neither of us really thrilled about the locale, but staying put is ever so easily accomplished.
Aging, it seems, makes me reconsider – perhaps there’s merit in warmer climates.
As the joints in my fingers squeal little prophetic tunes of ‘if you think this is bad, just you wait’, and my cold ankles send icicles up my spine, I recognize that there will need to be some more compromises made – and quickly!
I’ve discovered that once my ankles become chilled, there is no other body part that I can warm to adjust my core temperature back to comfort. I simply have to find a method to keep my ankles warm, always. Similarly, the back of my neck is now a temperature modifying zone.
Where are those leg-warmers of the 80s? Why didn’t I subscribe to that fashion phase and store a box of them as mementos?
Thankfully, scarves have been quite the recent fashion craze – and as usual, I’ll finally be interested in them once they’re going out of style. Count on me to be completely off the tracks of fashion sense. 🙂
Seriously though, I’ve recently discovered that quality “short”boots – not the ankle boots, mind you – provide just the sort of heat entrapment necessary for these thermostat ankles, so I’ve stalled the caravan South for a bit.
But I do understand those SnowBirds now. Does that mean I’m still learning?
“Bees do have a smell, you know, and if they don’t they should, for their feet are dusted with spices from a million flowers.”
Today marks the cultural page turn – from 48 to 49… meaning that I’ll begin telling myself that I’m 50 now.
It’s a bittersweet change, a journey-marking and emotion-stirring sort of transition.
I love who I’ve become. It’s been a long hard journey, but I feel it’s come full circle now – I found the girl I lost a long, long time ago.
A woman now, but with a girlish joy, a girlish energy, a girlish view of life – with a firm foundation of reality and knowledge.
Oh, I don’t know it all – hell no I don’t!
But what I do know gives me courage.
It gives me strength and fortitude.
And I can now look in the mirror and say “I love you, you beautiful bad-ass you!”
That took a long time, and I just realized today that it’s real.
Sadly, I’m now the number my grandmother reached, never to count another.
Did she ever reach a satisfaction point?
Was she ever able to look at the mirror and love those eyes looking back?
I’m only two years from the number my mother last counted.
I don’t know that she had the satisfaction of self-acceptance either.
This anchors me, holds me firmly on my feet.
I think of their end – to feel as young as I feel, yet to have lived as much as I have lived now. To realize how precious life is – I mean, we finally really get that at this age! Then to be done?
No knowledge, no history to follow.
Missed opportunities, missed grand-kids, missed great grand-kids…
That rocks my world a bit. It makes their absence seem off-balance, skewed and unreal.
I know that I’m 90% likely to exceed this year by 20 or 40 (yes, I’ll take the positive view) years. I’m thankful for what I have and what possibilities exist…
And I’m so happy with where I am, where we are, my spouse and I – where our kids are, and what our lives are about.
More importantly, I’m so thankful to Almighty that I’ve been allowed the opportunity to see today. We really never truly know if we’ll see tomorrow…
There you have it – it’s bittersweet…
But there’s more — I’ll share the “cherry on top” moment for the day:
Moving slowly this morning, just a little worn from four hours of road time yesterday, topped by a 5K mud dash for a fundraiser, I was feeling pretty good about myself. I’d accomplished a physical feat that I had been unsure of, and I had met new people and enjoyed myself thoroughly.
I took my sweet time, finally taking time to run through the edits and uploads for my niece’s bridal shower pictures. Much later than my usual time, I was ready to eat breakfast and get outside to monitor the poor, neglected garden.
I was in such a hurry to get outside, I decided to take my yogurt/granola out with me and eat it as I walked through the garden.
There I was, granola bowl in hand, rounding the corner of the garage, noticing that there was a strange chair peeking out from behind the camper.
As I continued my approach, the accompanying bistro style table with colorful flower mosaic tile and second chair came into view!
I have to admit, the smile on my face was the biggest I’ve had, and the tears that streamed down my face were pure joy.
I slowly set my bowl down and admired his choice, feeling the sudden rush of contentment that comes from someone just knowing me so well.
Yes, I feel pretty good, pretty grounded about the number fifty.
“Most people are on the world, not in it– having no conscious sympathy or relationship to anything about them– undiffused separate, and rigidly alone like marbles of polished stone, touching but separate. ”