Count down to my birthday May 3, 2024
Nine days until my birthday, an odd count down, I think,
from a time when I actually looked ahead to getting older, if not old.
I’ve become a survivor, having outlived already all those I
liked in the old house with except my mother and grandmother.
When my mother passed away in late 2001, my uncle pulled me
aside at the grave site to say, “We’re the last two.”
Meaning we were the last of the family that had shared
experiences in the house my grandfather bought after World War II.
Ted’s remark haunted me, especially after I learned of his
passing in 2010, and I saw myself as the last of the clan.
This wasn’t completely accurate because Uncle Pete, Alice’s
husband, remained alive until early 2012, at which point, I became the last of
that generation, year by year outliving all my predecessors with the exception
of my mother and grandmother in total age.
This year, I reach the age at which my mother died, leaving
my grandmother who died at 91, the last milestone and possibly one I won’t
likely reach – even though I am healthier now than she was at my age.
I have my cousins, Pete’s kids, who were the next group of
my grandfather’s grand children, two of whom retain some memory of the old
house having visited their with Alice and Pete many times until Ted sold the
house and moved south in 1977.
Their clan carries on many of the traditions I shared back
when my family was still intact, something I am grateful for. Their patriarch,
Uncle Pete’s brother, is still alive at 91, who I saw just prior to Easter, and
who somehow feels connected to me, having seen all the foolish things I’ve done
in my life, and somehow got through them.
Over the last decade or so, my birthday has become a marker
of survival, rather than accomplishment, and so, I will be grateful when we get
passed it, and I won’t have to think about it again until the next one, if
indeed, I live that long.
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