Wednesday, January 10, 2007


So, because of misdiagnosed appendicitis (it burst) and the resulting pesky scar tissue, we didn't have our kids till later than we wanted. So here I am, just turned 50 and I have newly minted teenagers. Rose and Sara, 13, lovely and teetering on the edge of the nest looking out hungrily at the sky (while all I see is the sheer drop). Four years ago, doctors were telling me that my husband could die. Two years ago my father died. I am so full of the understanding of mortality now -- my mortality and, more worrisome, the mortality of those I love -- and all I want to do is reach out and hold on tighter than ever to everything I love. Which, as far as the 13 year olds go (and I do remember how being 13 goes all too embarrassingly well) is precisely the wrong thing to be doing right now. Ah well.

1 comment:

Leigh said...

Dearest Auntie,
Being that R&S understand much more than they sometimes let on, I'm guessing they'd allow some extra squeezing and holding-on-tight. They'll know what's going on, and hey, they might even like it. Growing up is scary for them as well as you.
Big Hugs,