Wishing their lives away
Friday night we had a surprise birthday celebration for one of the regular audience members at open mic. I consider her a friend, and we’ve shared many conversations and a few games of Scrabble. It was a belated birthday party, and she had reached her 60th year a week or so before. The candles on her cake spelled it out, and she wasn’t having it. She wasn’t prepared to face the number 60, I guess.
I understand the sticker-shock. It’s difficult, especially in a youth-worshipping culture, to accept the hard facts of growing older, (though I miss my non-aching joints far more than I miss the rest of being 20). I have sat at the table with her and the usual suspects, always the youngest, surrounded by 50- and 60-somethings, but feeling I have more in common with them than my own age group. But sitting among people who are of A’s vintage, I am often led to wonder why he didn’t have those years, and why those who do seem so unable to appreciate them. And having lost him, I wonder how soon I will lose them, too.
My friend literally put her hands out to shield herself from the view of those tell-tale candles, and when anyone commented on her 60th, she disavowed any knowledge or truthfulness of the number. Part of it was in jest, I’m sure, and part of it was reading from a societal script where women are never supposed to cop to their age. And maybe part of it was symptomatic of the angst regarding the very real toll the years take on us.
I, too, have felt weary and tired of living, especially in the last two years as I slowly try to put to rights this life of mine. I know this friend hasn’t had an easy life either (who does?), and perhaps if I’m time- and life-worn at 36, it stands to reason that I will be more so in another 24 years, if I get them. I was talking to E the other day, and I said I got really old after A died, more easily tired, and ready for bed much earlier than I used to be. The emotional assault has had physical results, the duration of which I’ve no idea, other than that they’re ongoing now.
But even so, there is still a part of me who (mentally) says, "Don’t you DARE bitch about being 60. Some people aren’t so lucky, you know!" Which, of course, is on par with those who say, "Get it together; many people have lost more than you have. And you’re lucky to have that much to lose." I keep my mouth shut. I don’t know what it’s like to be her, and maybe she’s had enough. But I guess I am jealous of those who take their years and the opportunities they afford for granted, wishing them away as they blow out their candles. Because I’d give a lot to have had those five years with A. I guess no one appreciates time like those who’ve run out of it.