That day in my apartment, my parents didn't really do anything special. My dad sat on one end of my tiny sofa and read the newspaper for much of the afternoon. My mom chatted about stuff that I can't even remember now. At some point, we grabbed a bite, but although I don't remember if we went out or ordered in, I do remember taking pictures of the two of them with my ever-present camera. I mostly shot black and white then and processed my own film and printed my negatives in my bathroom/darkroom. The picture above is one of the ones I shot. Another from the impromptu photo session was used for her funeral program.
My mom was only 49 when she died. In this photo, she was the same age that I am now - 47. It's hard to believe that I have lived almost half my life without her in it. Even harder to realize I am almost the age she was when she passed away.
I had turned 25 only a few months before she died. The thoughts of a 25-yr-old single woman still sorting out career stuff and life in general are very different than the thoughts of a 40-something married woman with children. My life at 47 is very different from what hers was at 47, but very similar, too, in many ways. For example, both of us are moms who worry about our kids, even though they are adults. We both love our partners with all our hearts and so much appreciate traveling this life path with them by our sides. Both fiercely loyal to family and friends, we feel very deeply for and with those we care about, which can be both a blessing and a curse. And of course, there's breast cancer.
I'm not sure if she did, but I think about my mortality a lot since I finished active treatment. Did my mom at 47 hear the loud ticking of the clock, reminding her that time is fleeting and there may not be as much of it left as she thought? Did she ponder all the places she'd never seen and the things she never did and wonder if she'd get to do them some day? Did she make plans for the 50th birthday that she never got to see?
I do. And I'm kind of sorry that I never even thought to ask her any of that.
Time is fleeting for all of us as life really can turn on a dime. But nearing the threshold of an age my mother never got to see is both humbling and terrifying. My living model of life at 30, 35, 40, after a cancer diagnosis and at 49 isn't here to show me what life at 50, 60, 70 and beyond will look like from the outside.
So I'm not sure if 49 will be a happy or a sad time for me. I had a big birthday party for my 40th, but I'm not so sure if one for 50 is something I want to do. Such a strange feeling, it really is.
Oddly, I feel so much insight about this life stage, if that makes sense. It's kinda strange - and beautiful at the same time. I can't explain it any better than that.
But first, there's 48 - and the continued celebration of my 10-year cancerversary to get through. Onward...