It's an old story, as old as the human race. But for every individual it's brand new, all over again.
We are young... and then we age. No matter how gracefully we age, we lose some of our vitality and some of our beauty. My mother always used to say how she felt the same inside, old or young, and was shocked when she looked in the mirror. Who is that old hag? Not the lithe and winsome creaure she used to be!
Mother got old... and then she got older... and then she died. And now it's my turn.
I don't recognize myself in current pictures. Only just barely. My mother reached a point where she didn't recognize herself at all. "Who is that old lady?" she would ask. At first, it was a joke, but later she really meant it. She truly didn't know it was herself.
And I'm almost there already.
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3 comments:
Scary how the grave comes at us like a dark-mouthed dragon ready to swallow us whole, hopes, dreams and all.
I'm sorry but I feel that comment is so dark and pessimistic. You can recognize those you love. You may not want to recognize yourself. But there is a beauty is age that cannot be matched by anything else.
That is certainly true. Truth is a chameleon sometimes.
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