Today at work, I was talking to my co-worker about life and getting older, as we often do while working. And I got to thinking…
In less than three months, I’m going to be 35.
When did I get this old? Where did all the time go? I don’t feel 35. I don’t even think I look 35. I guess I can be grateful to reasonably good genes for that.
And then I got to thinking– if my Grandma were alive today, she’d be 99 years old. And my Nana would be 88.
My Mom is going to be 63. My Dad is nearing 68.
I look at pictures of both of them, and neither of them look that old. Sure, they have their health problems and whatnot, but to me, they still look at least 50-something. When did they get past that and start heading toward 70?
My little sister, who I still envision in black concert T-shirts and blue-jeans sometimes, is going to be 33 next year. And today is her third wedding anniversary.
We’re all getting old. And yet none of us feels as old as the numbers say we are.
It just goes to show you, age is truly but a number.
My parents’ wedding photo, March 13, 1965
My sister’s wedding photo, September 14, 2002