Where Will I Be ...

My morning thoughts evolved into a state of wondering "Where will I be in ten years?" ... then twenty ... then thirty.

Ten years is easy. I have sisters who are nine and eleven years older than me. I remember Mom at their age. Mom always seemed young for her years. My sisters seem younger. I'm not saying I will seem younger than them but the moral to this paragraph is I believe I will be a vibrant, healthy and productive human being in ten years.

Twenty years is more illusive. I can remember snippets of what was going on in Mom's life when she was twenty years older than I am right now. She may have had pneumonia by this time. It was the first time I remember coming face to face with the fact Mom was a mortal human being. She bounced back as if nothing had happened, adopted some new eating/living strategies and proved how resilient she was.

Mom was an independent, determined soul. Her advise to me was "surround yourself with younger people". She didn't mean those of the daycare age I had been tending. She was steering me towards surrounding myself with young minded adults who were not obsessed with aging, health issues, talk of death and dying. Live while you are young and as you age, surround yourself with youthful people was what I heard.

Thirty years from now, I will be on the cusp of what ended up being Mom's final year with us. Even when her health became more worrisome, she fought hard for her independence and to remain in her home.

I look at the way she lived that year. She accepted our presence when the chips were down but the moment she started feeling more like herself she sent us home and we all carried on life as we knew it.

I remember Mom bracing me to accept the news would not be good when she went to the hospital. She was giving me advance warning to prepare for the worst. It is not good. And it wasn't. But it wasn't as dire as Mom thought. She lived seven more months. She slowed down. She ate what she could. She did her very best to follow doctor's orders. She read. She had her favorite spots in the sun (her living room couch in the winter; her sun room in the summer). "I am not in any pain" was Mom's common refrain throughout the months that followed her diagnosis.

Mom died the way she lived. On her own terms. In her home until her (almost) final days. Her last chat with us had us laughing. A coin phrase we had adopted through some of my last visits with Mom was (because I tend to be a long winded soul who uses too many words to say very little), "And that's all I have to say about that". After our final family meeting with her doctors (who had been focusing far too heavily on talk about her health), when she had spoken her piece and said all that needed to be said, she looked over at me and asked, "What would Forrest Gump say?"

"That's all I have to say about that."

Very few words were spoken after that conversation and I believe that is how Mom would have wanted it. She went out on a high note. I remember that serious conversation with lightness in my heart.

Where will I be in thirty years? I hope I am in a place where I have enough of Mom's spirit within me to look up and out of myself and into the lives of others. I don't want to feel lost in my own thoughts and worries. I want to read in a sunbeam, soak up the moments and feel I have everything to live for.

Mom left me with many conversations to ponder. I hope I never forget her wisdom and adopt the feisty part of her that made her who she was.

We had our final conversation with Mom two years ago today. It is fading but I remember the feeling. We were ready. Mom was ready. She had said all she had to say. And that's all I have to say about that.