We get older, they don’t
My late husband died three months and one day after his 47th birthday. Yesterday, I turned 47 which means I am now his final earthly age. On April 11 of this year, I will officially be older than he ever was.
That’s an odd feeling…
When I am an elder, recounting the wild tales of my youth, I will only ever recall him as a younger person. He will be spared wrinkles and silvering hair. (He was bald though, but you get what I’m saying.) He will be spared the whole Medicare enrollment thing, he will never know the benefit of a senior discount.
But, Heaven willing, I will.
He will remain “forever young.”
Aside from years and age, he is missing out on so much more, though.
As easy as it would be to feel a little envious that he will never become “old”, he has missed out on watching his daughter go from grade-schooler to a young woman who will be eligible for her driver’s permit this Summer.
He has missed out on her getting all tall and skinny, with bob length black hair now. (She had long blonde hair for the majority of her childhood.)
He has missed out on so much, from new music, to a worldwide pandemic, and so much more, old age included.
So no, I am not actually envious of his forever young state.
I welcome the wrinkles and the silver hair because not everyone is afforded that luxury.
Very soon, I will be”older” than him, and someday so will our daughter.
Life truly does go on, and I am grateful for every second.
And if I’ve learned anything in these 47 years, it’s that gratitude helps everything.