I feel so differently this birthday; many folks I hear about
or have met are dying and most are younger than I. The feeling is similar to
how I felt after my mother died and I became the oldest member of my family. The
feeling is internal; this pedestal holds no monument as elder and exerts little
influence over anyone. It hides a deep loneliness in not having an older
relative to look up to, to ask for an opinion, even if it were to see what the
older person thought so I felt justified in choosing my own way.
I feel grateful
to be alive and healthy at seventy-four, having climbed a mountain that many do
not reach whole. The feeling is one of pride and humility mixed, as not only
genetics, but conscious effort on my mother’s part to nurture me well and my
own lifestyle choices, plus a dose of random chance have brought me here. The
older generation’s superstitions leave me a bit fearful writing these words.
What if I don’t fear the evil eye? (tuy,
tuy) When I tore the red ribbon from
my hair, said my mother, I caught the measles and became amblyopic.
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