I know it’s weird. For some reason I wanted to compare my exact age to the exact age of my mother on the day of her death in 1988. Yes, I actually counted the days from her birthday to her death day and added the same number to my birthday. That’s how I know today I’m my mother’s exact age at the time of her death from pancreatic cancer.
What should I do with this information? We lived entirely different lives. I could easily have died back in the late ’70s from one of five episodes of a syndrome that had yet to be identified as toxic shock. Every single day puts most of us in some setting that could lead to fatality. Let’s face it, we all live on the edge, more often than not taking our health and well-being for granted.
When my mother died at age 74 I thought she was way too young—way too young! She was ten years younger than my dad, for Pete’s sake! At age 84, he would have been the likely one to “go” first. Not that my siblings or I were ready for that either!
Bottom line, my health is good, and I hope to keep it that way. I’m not morbid and have no premonitions of an untimely end, nor do I believe I’m “tempting fate” by posting this. I was alone with my mother at her home in Florida that day in May when she was exactly my age. Her coma didn’t stop me from reading to her or from telling her things she should take with her to heaven. Seeing her through to the end gave me the unspeakable gift of time together. And now, without any effort at all, I can jump back more than 30 years and remember Mother as a peer, so to speak. That alone is worth admitting I’m weird!
Don’t worry about me, though; I have stuff to do and won’t give it much thought. Besides, every single day is a bonus for me!