Somebody said that getting old is not for sissies. They were not lyin’. The creaky joints. The bad knees. The lack of sleep. The gas. Every time someone asks if my mom and I are sisters. I mean WTF? But for me? There is a deeper fear that is really all of my own creating. My mom’s been under the weather for weeks. She’s had a “fever of unknown origin” that no one can seem to figure out, and it’s hard seeing her miserable and frustrated. I’ve tried to be there for her when she needs me. And sometimes that means sacrificing something else. Plans. Commitments. Work. Time with friends. Let me preface all this by saying I am honored to be there for my mom. She’s my mom! But. I have been internalizing the moods, the health, the happiness or despair, the emotional baggage of my loved ones for as long as I can remember. My late ex-husband was an emotional powder keg. He once bit into a bay leaf I accidentally left in a lasagna and didn’t talk to me for three days. Three days of dread and despair. I become unable to compartmentalize the tough times and still live my life. I’m frozen. And not in a “Let it go, let it go…” kinda way. I walk around with a knot in my stomach all the time. I have a ton of amazing things I’m part of right now and I feel like I’m not doing any of them justice. And underneath it all is that little selfish voice whispering, questioning…”How does this affect me!? What about me?” A better person than me might answer back, “it’s only about you in how you can impact someone else, someone who needs you” And I try to be that person. But sometimes I just don’t want to. I want to run away, to hide from all the hard things my loved ones are going through. To only let the good stuff in. I remember when I was little, my mom at some point told me I wasn’t a very nice person. I have long since forgotten what I did or said to warrant that but I haven’t forgotten the feeling it evoked. I hope my mom has changed her mind. I hope I can be the person who will do whatever it takes to make her less sad, less scared even though I’m sad and scared. And I hope I can keep showing up. For my work. For my friends. For my synagogue community. For the loved ones that need me. For myself. Life is always gonna have rough patches. The secret is living that life fully during the whole bumpy, lovely mess.
Getting vintage 