My mother looks in the mirror and whines about her gray roots. She squints at the wrinkles, and studies her face like a topographical map.
"I'm ooooold..." It's both a statement and a complaint against time. She punctuates it a second time with: "Ceci, I'm old." Her tone makes it seem as if she is revealing a new fact to me.
This makes me think about the people I see around me at chemo. I am a rarity, you see. People my age don't get seen very often in the GI clinic because we just don't get colon cancer as often. Part of me is suspicious that this elicits a bit more attention from nurses, a bit more encouragement, a bit more pity because I am "so young". They say it like that, they stretch it out and let it linger in the air.
Everyone around me looks about 50-80 and I must be honest, dear reader...that ugly part of my soul finds a tinge of jealousy. A tiny seed of anger and pettiness. It's terrible, I know, but I can't help but feel it creep into my heart. All I can do is acknowledge it, fight it back and swallow it down. I think of them raising their family, buying a house, going on cheesy cruises to the Bahamas, celebrating 30 years with their spouse, getting that promotion at work...they had life. Chances.
When I see grey hair, I see a life lived. I see stretch marks and wrinkles, I see a body that went places. I see creaky bones and stiff fingers, I imagine they did something. Whether they made mistakes or took those chances, I don't know- but they had them. And right now, it's what I want most. It's the only reason to fight. I guess, I am simply no longer interested in the cult of youth.
Your grey hair, those 30 extra pounds, those stretch marks...next time you lament having gotten old...remember that someone out there wants nothing more than that. Be proud of your birthdays, of your memories, of the people you have known, and all the facets and versions of yourself that you got to be.
It is a beautiful and truly envious thing.
"I'm ooooold..." It's both a statement and a complaint against time. She punctuates it a second time with: "Ceci, I'm old." Her tone makes it seem as if she is revealing a new fact to me.
This makes me think about the people I see around me at chemo. I am a rarity, you see. People my age don't get seen very often in the GI clinic because we just don't get colon cancer as often. Part of me is suspicious that this elicits a bit more attention from nurses, a bit more encouragement, a bit more pity because I am "so young". They say it like that, they stretch it out and let it linger in the air.
Everyone around me looks about 50-80 and I must be honest, dear reader...that ugly part of my soul finds a tinge of jealousy. A tiny seed of anger and pettiness. It's terrible, I know, but I can't help but feel it creep into my heart. All I can do is acknowledge it, fight it back and swallow it down. I think of them raising their family, buying a house, going on cheesy cruises to the Bahamas, celebrating 30 years with their spouse, getting that promotion at work...they had life. Chances.
When I see grey hair, I see a life lived. I see stretch marks and wrinkles, I see a body that went places. I see creaky bones and stiff fingers, I imagine they did something. Whether they made mistakes or took those chances, I don't know- but they had them. And right now, it's what I want most. It's the only reason to fight. I guess, I am simply no longer interested in the cult of youth.
Your grey hair, those 30 extra pounds, those stretch marks...next time you lament having gotten old...remember that someone out there wants nothing more than that. Be proud of your birthdays, of your memories, of the people you have known, and all the facets and versions of yourself that you got to be.
It is a beautiful and truly envious thing.
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