Being Brave

My mom likes to tell this story about the times I was in the hospital for my surgeries – when it was time for me to go into the OR, I’d get into the wheelchair or take the nurse’s hand and I would go down the hall and not look back.  Not even to give her or my dad one last wave as they prepared to wait in rooms that were made for just that.  Nope, I would just go on my merry way.  I was so brave. 
                                         
It’s been over 20 years now but I vividly remember those trips to the OR.  If I was in a wheelchair, I would count how long it took to get to the final destination.  If I was walking, I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.  But I would not look back.  I wouldn’t look back because as scared as I was of what was in front of me, I was more scared about what I might see behind me.    

So, I would stare straight ahead, swallowing the lump of tears and fears lodged in my throat, and I went on my way straight into a room made for operating.

And when I woke up, I didn’t have to be quite so brave anymore, because they were always there, bravely waiting.      

The Downside

Lately, every visit with my parents seems to remind me that they are getting old.  They're not just getting old; they’re turning into old people.  I mean, they’re not decrepit.  But it’s just a fact of life -  there are more aches and pains, the gray strands of hair finally outnumber the non, and sometimes it's too cold to go out.  And then there are other moments that cause me to worry because, well, they’re on the downside of the hill. 

Like when I was home at Thanksgiving and I found my mom sitting at the computer without her pants on.  Mentally, I went through my Dr. Oz-certified Alzheimers’ checklist:  did she forget to put her pants on?  Does she know she’s not wearing pants?  Does she know how to put pants on?  Does she know what pants are?  I stated the obvious first, “Mom, you don’t have any pants on!”  Now, my mom's far from having dementia or Alzheimers so she was well aware of her pantsless outfit.  I forget why she didn't have pants on but I'm sure there was a reasonable explanation.  The explanation isn't important.  What’s important is that she knew she wasn't wearing pants.  So hooray, my mother isn't suffering from dementia.  But she is getting old and I’m starting to worry about the stuff that happens to parents when they turn into old people. 

I’m starting to worry about when they’re not here anymore. 

I’m starting to worry about being left behind. 

So, there’s all that.  Then there are all the family and friends who seem to be going through major life changes recently – engagements, babies, Facebook relationship status updates.  They’re all moving forward in their lives.  And here I am stuck in a rut in a holding pattern.  A rut pattern of my own making, I completely admit.  A rut pattern that I can’t seem to get out of. 

Everyone’s getting older, everyone’s moving forward, and me? 

I’m starting to worry about being left behind.

I’m starting to worry about never catching up. 

But most of all, I’m starting to worry that there won’t be anyone to worry about me when I’m on the downside of that hill and not wearing any pants.