31/07/2022
The past gingerly reaches into the present today. My mind repeatedly wanders back to this day 35 years ago when my mom left this world. My heart and mind are full of the sights, sounds, memories and gut-wrenching emotions experienced at that time. I could not know the lifelong impact her loss would bring.
I was a college senior with two quarters left before graduating in winter. Thirty-five years later, Iâm 57 â a year older than my mom ever got to be. I feel like Iâm living in what is uncharted territory. Iâm gifted with a longer life than my mom had. Because of that, it feels like thereâs no guideposts ahead. How to age was never modeled because she died in midlife. I can look to how my aunt lived life as she aged and wonder if it wouldâve been similar for my mom. I can look to other older women and see how itâs done. But none are my mom. Iâm figuring this out as I go. >Be your own trailblazer.< Oh, I am.
One of the more common conversations I have with friends and acquaintances these days is how to do your 50s. And beyond. What does it look like? What are the life challenges? The goals? (Are there goals?) The advantages, the disadvantages, and the way forward?
Consensus? Itâs a crapshoot.
Thereâs plenty of midlife women rockinâ their lives and this world. There are women who have found great freedom and joy in living life for themselves at this point. There are world-changers and life-celebraters.
There are also the rest of us, with pockets of all the above, but mostly left wondering about our own lives. Many of us feel like weâve hit a crossroads. Weâre no longer who we used to be. We are, of course. And yet weâre not. Weâve seen and experienced too much to be who we were one, two, three decades ago. Weâve matured and gained wisdom. At least in some areas of life, hopefully.
We also struggle with whatâs been lost. Our youthful feminine beauty that the world so values. The face in the mirror is sometimes a stranger. Old familiar clothes donât fit on a changing-without-permission body.
Adult kids no longer require time from those who became moms. Husbands or partners may or may not be in the picture anymore. And their income may or may not, as well.
Any jobs or careers that have been a part of our lives have oftentimes changed and seem to have gone on without us. Workplaces frequently donât value women past 45.
Society doesnât always acknowledge our presence like it did in our younger years. Heads donât turn, doors donât open. Our voices arenât heard. We become invisible and inaudible.
So what do we do with all that?
Hereâs where I wish I could ask my mom about her experiences. But hers were cut short.
I can only pull what I can out of the foggy recesses of my cobwebby mind. The best I can do is recall conversations with her through the lens of my early 20-something self, filtered through a pile-on of 35 more years of living.
Before her cancer diagnosis in the last year of her life, one of her main concerns was The Change â as it was often euphemistically called back then. Menopause reared its ugly head in her life. She struggled greatly with it, as did I. She was undone by soaking hot flashes, emotional rollercoasters, foggy thinking and poor memory. She wasnât quite who she knew herself to be previously. She was challenged by this new way of being.
She tried getting on with life, in spite of dealing with a bunch of untamed menopausal side effects. There werenât a lot of helps or options in the 1980s. She searched inside herself for what her next role in life would be. Her oldest three kids were off on their own, leaving only me at home.
My own future was uncertain after my upcoming college graduation. My mom never envisioned that Iâd be capable of living a normal adult life. Sheâd been my near-constant caregiver since I was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis at age seven. Her future was in limbo, too.
I was determined to do all the normal independent adult things â working full-time to support myself and living on my own (spoiler alert: Iâve done all-the-things) but that was outside her comfort zone and her view of my capabilities. I understand now that it was a terrifying concept to her that Iâd be on my own. It also terrified her that she might no longer be needed by anyone. My dad / her husband was self-sufficient. What would become of her if I didnât physically need her?
The bigger world was changing, as well. She acknowledged sheâd need to change to keep up with it, too.
Technology was making tiny inroads. She knew she needed to become familiar with it even though it was outside her comfort zone. She hesitatingly stepped up and tried what she could, including our hotly debated newfangled answering machine.
She was intrigued by the electric typewriter she and Dad had given me for high school graduation, but she was too scared to try it. She knew and loved her old manual Royal typewriter and comfortably used it on a weekly basis.
But in my later college years, when Iâd have my electric typewriter out to type up yet another paper, she started asking questions about it. A few weeks later, I was surprised and proud to see her trying it on her own.
Finding her courage to try the electric typewriter, spilled over into sitting down awhile later at our new and little understood Commodore desktop computer. In those pre-internet days, typing up recipes seemed the most useful, although unnecessary, benefit it offered. But computers were all the talk, and she conquered her fears to try it.
And then her cancer diagnosis happened. Life shifted.
I wonder what she wouldâve done with her life if she had survived. She was no longer afraid to grow and change. Iâve no doubt she wouldâve continued pushing herself, if only small bits at a time. I see exciting possibilities that mightâve opened up for her.
I know she wouldâve eventually found her footing. But like with me, it mightâve taken awhile.
She was common-sense smart. She was great at figuring out problems. She was a leader although she wouldnât have seen herself as such. She never thought she had much in the way of skills. She hadnât worked since her 20s. She hadnât attended college, and she felt lacking when her kids graduated. She didnât think she had a future â and then it was taken from her.
She had so many unrecognized skills. She had so much personality, so much knowledge and wisdom in so many areas that she thought were commonplace. They werenât. She had so much value to share with others. But she didnât have the confidence to see it in herself.
I wish I could go back in time and gather up all those nuggets of life wisdom and experiences that she had, and that disappeared with her. Some I knew of, some I will never know. As a young adult, I was just getting to know her. I was barely starting to see that she was more than my mom. She was a full-fledged, multi-faceted, complex, sparkling being with so much to offer the world. What amazing potential she had as a midlife woman going forward. From my then-youthful vantage point, I only got to experience a fraction of who she was.
Mom, Iâm now older than you, as surreal as that is. I acknowledge your amazingness that you generously shared with this planet. I recognize your worth and wisdom. I know your value. I hear you. I see you. I miss you. Iâm proud of you.
