Age is of no importance unless you’re a cheese. (Billie Burke)
As my husband and I walk hand-in-hand along a park path, two younger women say that we look like a cute couple. Yup, we’ve been recognized as nursing-home candidates. Cute is reserved for the opposite ends of the age spectrum. Youngsters and oldsters.
We are in our mid-seventies. However, the spirit I carry inside is confused by the image I see in the bathroom mirror. The loose skin and sagging neck. The inner self gathers both pain and joy. It grows. Its form is not visible.
I can always learn something new. About the world and about this red-haired individual I call me. Someone I love was in the hospital recently. The experience stole more energy than I expected. I am coming back.
A cobalt blue sky speaks healing. The deeper kind. The kind that tells me to hold on when rain and storms break through.
“I’m celebrating you today,” I tell my husband. It is his birthday. I appreciate a mate who loves me as I am. Presents and cakes don’t matter as much anymore. However, this living moment matters far more.
terrypetersen 