Eighty came joyously, with a thirst and excitment for life. Eighty came with some pounds shed, feeling more agile. Eighty came with recovered words of wisdom that I had awaited you to share. Eighty came with a newfound depth to your usually silly and often times made-up words. Eighty came only three months ago. And somehow, things have taken a turn. How could I have been so wrong? Did your body hold out long enough for eighty? So focused on this long awaited goal of eighty, unsure if you’d ever actually hold it in your hands. And now that you can hold it, has your body released? When eighty came with such vitality, I read that as a sign of ensuring many more birthdays to come. Has your body breathed a sigh of relief that has become a slumping towards forever rest? Instead of reading this as a symbol of your strength from all the life you’ve survived, I read it as a symbol of strength for all the life ahead of you. And maybe there’s not much more strength to give. Maybe eighty was enough. Maybe it’s selfish of me. It probably is. But I long for eighty to not be enough. I yearn for your will to carry you forward. I yearn for your love to ignite your tenacity for more life.
I see this pattern in me. This belief that if someone loves me hard enough and true enough, they will stay. They will fight against insurmountable odds. Because that’s what you do when you love someone. Am I not enough to live for? This is not about my grandmother. This is about me. Or maybe it’s about us both.
May 22, 2024