The Reckoning

Thoughts on turning 56...

There comes a point in our lives when our past meets up with the present, inadvertently ushering us into the journey of the unknown. The rhythm and seasons of our past lives catches up with our present as an ode to the woman we have become. What you once feared alternatively becomes an empowering moment.

Like many women born in June 1970, I turned 56 yesterday, June 30. Ancient to my sons’ generation, I’m now what some would whisper “a woman of a certain age”. In those 56 years, I managed to create my unique tapestry of lived experiences. After traversing phases, stages in my personal and professional worlds, graduating from one identity to another, every aspect of life that once collided, conflicted even seem to have now come into full circle.

I find myself in a grounded space, accepting the things I could not change. Who knew that this moment would come? I pinch myself sometimes never having expected that the grays I vainly protect comes packaged with the awakened version of the woman staring at me in the mirror. In the same vein, I’ve become an active observer of my life, mostly choosing pursuits and people that light up my inner child.

In the midst of these welcome or unwelcome changes, I’ve rediscovered my inner child. She is the adventurous, fiercely independent spirited girl who never really left the room. She simply learned to adjust to the whims of change in life. She’s now the woman of unapologetic opinions on many things, deeply anchored on who she is, what she’s not and what she will not ever tolerate (gray hair included, maybe someday that will change).

In the midst of all these inner mid-life shifts there too is the undeniable shift among those dearest to us. In my world, nothing has been more pivotal and profoundly influential than witnessing life wither away.

Ready or not, autumn has arrived. The sober hush of my autumn years have come. The leaves are falling faster than I could count…..ambling to glide, to fade, and land down ground.

My autumn years, as I’d like to coin it, arrived last year. Around August, I received one of those dreaded calls from my brother. I had to come home to deal with the continuing decline of my mother. She was hospitalized again. The last three years have been a blur of dealing with the repercussions of her fall, her stubbornness to transfer the reigns of responsibility to our family’s rental properties, her hospital bills, detachment with folks who benefited from their patron of financial rescue, and renovation of our home into one that resembled a hospital suite.

Most days, her 86 year old body lies quietly asleep, constantly surrounded by wonderful caregivers. This version of her bore no resemblance to the independent, strong-willed dowager she once was. She was both my ideal role model of a strong self-sufficient, highly capable woman, my forever moral compass while also the source of many childhood wounds.

Memories of Mother G came flooding in. The term of endearment “Mother G”, with “G” in bold, stood for “Mother General” (pretty much self-explanatory I think). Yes, “Nanay” (Tagalog word for Mother) was reverently referred to (in whispers) amongst family members as “Mother G”. She ruled our home like it was her birthright. Once upon a time Mother G constantly juggled roles of wifehood, motherhood, entrepreneurship, and yes, patron saint of financial rescue to anyone in need (family and otherwise).

Witnessing my mother’s continued decline, unable to care for herself is a reminder that change is a constant inevitable part of life. What you defiantly refuse to face will haunt those around you.

There’s an undeniable sense of grace, and reverence that comes with age. You learn to tell yourself the truth, while forgiving yourself (and others too). You enter a phase of making peace with the past. It’s a continuing, graceful process of coming into terms with all your jumbled memories of joy, and pain with things in between you wish you could change if only your mortal powers could have you travel back in time.

The realization that “You’ve come a long way baby!” fills you with immense gratitude. You’re still around, as healthy as you can possibly be, and sometimes wishing you could still slip into that slinky black dress! Yet while your wits remain sharp, there is the ever present somber knowing that time waits for no one.

I’m reminded of Mary Oliver’s existential question, “Tell me what is it you plan to do with your one wild precious life?”

The possibilities are endless; to live with a vision of clarity, joy following my inner light; to witness and share the continued unfolding of my becoming here at Grown Woman Theory. I know I am not alone in this journey, my sisters of a certain age are on their unique journey as well.

So here’s a toast in honor of my sisters of a certain age with lyrics immortalized by Karen Carpenter once upon a time, “We’ve only just begun, to live… so much of life ahead…we’ll find a place where’s room to grow, we’ve only just begun.”