Sept. 28, 2008 ~ Waiting
One of my favorite mystery writers, Lisa Scottoline, has a Sunday column, "Chick Wit," in the Philadelphia Enquirer. Today's words of wit and wisdom struck a chord with me, as they so often do.
She wrote about being "of a certain age," which she has decided is the fifties, so I guess I'm a woman of a certain age, at least according to Lisa. I'm sure she's right. I'm pretty sure that Lisa is right most of the time. Perhaps I'm biased, because she's such a good writer. But probably not. I already told you about the wit and wisdom. I wasn't kidding. Oh, and she loves chickens. How can you not trust a woman who loves chickens? I love chickens, too. Anyway.
One of the things about being of a certain age is "waiting to be left," waiting for the phone call that changes your life forever. The phone call that says your mother is gone. I did not receive such a call, because along with my stepfather, I was at my mother's side, holding her hand as she died. It was just hours before my 37th birthday, and it's easy to remember that part, because the next day when I phoned people to give them the news, the first words out of their mouths, as soon as they heard my voice, were "Happy Birthday!" And it wasn't, actually, such a happy day. Nor was it a happy day for several birthdays after that, but I've long since gotten past that, and birthdays are once again a happy occasion.
There was a life-changing phone call, though, from a woman I'd never met. I'd just come from the vet that morning, and had learned that our new dog had heartworms, which would require an expensive stay at the vet's and a long period of treatment and recovery. It was only a few days before Christmas, and I was so sad when I came home from the vet without the dog. And then the phone rang. It was that woman I'd never met, the friend of my brother's who told me to sit down, that she had some bad news, that he'd been killed in a car accident. I was devastated. At age 40, I was officially alone. Father, Mother, Brother, all gone. But I did have my sweet Husband, wonderful sons, and good friends.
My mother was widowed when she was younger than I am now. My parents and my husband's father all died in their mid-sixties. My husband will soon be 61. And I have never said this out loud to anyone, especially to Husband, but sometimes I am afraid... just the tiniest bit afraid... because I do not want to join the Widows Club. At all. I want to be one of those couples who are still happily married when they are eighty or ninety-something. That's what I want.
Lisa was right. It's not so much about being of a certain age. We are women "of an uncertain age."
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