I posted a while back about turning seventy and how it didn’t bother me. In fact, I felt good about it. Since then I’ve weathered a couple of surgeries, COVID (both the isolation years and experiencing it twice, both mild), and a massive two month vacation including a month in Europe.
I will turn seventy-seven this September and realized recently I qualify to use the term “in my late 70s”. How did that happen? I look in the mirror and see a short, slightly over-weight, woman. I have lumps and bumps that I manage to hide fairly well with the right clothes. I have a lot of wrinkles, mostly around my mouth, that I manage to hide by smiling as much as possible. I have graying hair that I just ignore.
What do others see when they look at me? Well, another cruise passenger told me, “Not to offend you, but I thought you were his mother,” referring to Stu. Yes, he doesn’t look his age. He can thank his mother for that. At 92 she could have passed for 62. My mother died at 62 so I have no idea what she would have looked like at 77. Her mother died giving birth to her, so no comparison there either.
I have a close cousin who is one year younger than me and she is aging quite well. We only share paternal familial genes. Her father was killed in a terrible accident when she was young but her mother lived to her 90s. Our paternal grandmother lived into her 90s as well.
So unless something unexpected happens, I hope to live well into my 90s along with my husband. I intend to savor every day!
Beautiful. Me toooo!