I am friends with a woman my age who lost her mother to cancer when she was a young adult, as I did. She told me once, “You will feel guilty when you pass the age that your mother was when she died.”
My mother died when she was 52; I was 26. I did not feel guilty on my 52nd birthday last year. Even at 26 I did not think my mother was old when she died. I knew she was much too young to be in the range of having had a good run. But what I did not understand was that 52 might not feel older than 42, just richer and better. I did not understand that she must have felt very firmly in the middle of her life. I did not understand that she may have been planning new adventures. I did not understand that she may have still been building her life. To me it seemed settled.
But I find that as I turn 53 I do have a sense of not knowing what to do now that I am still here. It’s as if 53 was unexpected. I imagine there are women who pattern their lives after their mothers’. They see their mothers’ lives as worthy blueprints on which to build their own. My mother’s life was more cautionary tale, yet her story provided its own outline for the structure of mine.
I have said that when she died I felt looser in the world, as if I were in a car without a seatbelt. I feel that way today. Her life of instability can no longer be the crutch I use to prop up my decisions. As I’m forced to release the comparison as measure, I’m feeling unmoored, if not unsure.
At each chapter of my life I have felt as if I were just getting started. Going to college, getting my first job, getting married, having children, getting divorced, beginning the emptying of my nest have all felt like being on the brink. Each time these changes have come with readiness and anticipation; I have always had a map firmly clutched in my hand.
Today there is no map. While I’m aware of it, I miss it less than I thought I would.
I am pretty sure Mrs. Blandings turns 11 today. 11! That was not in the plan. Thanks for following along.
Happy birthday (to you and the blog)! This is so poignant and beautiful. Thank you, as always, for sharing your perspective. Your writing is so lovely! I am from Kansas City (I grew up just blocks from where I believe your house to be) and live in New York now. I am not sure how I happened upon your blog years ago, but I have loved following along. It feels a lot like “home” to me.
I couldn’t ask for a better compliment. Thank you!
Your blogs have never not made me think, or rejoice, or smile. Giggling at the screen as I read has happened as well. Today I cried. Goddess love you, sweet Patricia. You have changed my world – well beyond 11 years! xoxo
We got really lucky when we walked into that pre school classroom together. Thanks for always showing up.
Wet eyes and covered in goosebumps, not at all unusual after reading your words here for the last 11 years. You are a gifted feeler/thinker/writer/designer/editor/communicator, Mrs. B. How can we thank you for giving so much of yourself to us, all these years? Happy Anniversary, dear person! xo xo
Thank you!
Yes to all of the above comments, especially the invoking of the Goddess!
When my soon turned 5, I asked him what it felt like to be 5. He replied, “I don’t know. I haven’t lived it yet.” Wise little fella’ at the time. At almost 69, I can report back there is no easy way to get through bad times. We just have to go through the eye of the storm to go on. You have been a courageous scout. You have bravely been moving forward and writing to tell of the experience. My take on these years you have written this blog is that along the way you have become more honest, more authentic, and, of course, more wise. My foot is taping waiting for your book.
I remember when I turned 42 and realized that my life was most likely now half-over. My father died a year later at almost 84 and my mother mother lived another 10 years to be just 85.
I will be 75 the end of Sept and I doubt I will live as long as my parents due to my progressive pulmonary disease (no, I was NOT a smoker after the age of 22!). It’s a very weird feeling to be in the last years of ones life – to realize that I will miss most of the “story” of my 4 grandchildren’s lives. The eldest left for college today. I really would like to live long enough to know where the others go to college? Who they all marry? What careers did they choose? Perhaps to actually hold a great-grandchild! Probably none of these things will happen and I’m very sad about that.
I understand your melancholy. But I hope you keep in mind that we really don’t know what will happen next. You could very well hold your great grandchildren. We live in astonishing times. I hope that you will.
YOUR WORDS ARE A PRECIOUS GIFT
You are very kind – thank you.
Happy Birthday. I discovered blogs when I was studying for the bar 11ish years ago, and stumbled over here…perhaps from Style Court? Again I am working late and looking for a distraction and was so happy to see this in my gmail.
Very possibly from Style Court. I was lucky to be in such good and talented company. Thanks for sticking around!
thank you for giving us your wonderful spirit. xo
When I lost my map, serendipity became a goal. So much easier to follow. Happy Birthday. xoxo Mary
Ah. Good words. Thank you.
Happy Birthday to you and your blog! Yours was the second blog I came upon after googling an old friend and roommate Deidre Daw. The google search led me to her sister, Megan Arquette which led me to you. I love the fact that without you, Megan, and others knowing it, I have a tribe of powerful women on my own journey. Thank you for all you share.