I have been a daughter, a mother and a grandmother. I have been a wife for much longer than I was single. I have been a student and a teacher and now, I am a student once more. But, what about those dreams from the beginning? Where have they gone? Such a far away time, when I dreamed of conquering the stars.
Will this point be a beginning or an ending? I am exactly half as old as my grannie. She is becoming more and more fragile as she moves to the end of the path. She mourns as bits of her are left behind. Her sight, her mobility, her hearing, dropped piece by piece as she cries for the end to come. Why can't we reach a peak and stay there until the switch is simply turned off?
We are born tiny and crying. We grow until we reach full stature and some of us grow into responsibility at the same time. And then, so gradually that one hardly notices, we begin to ungrow. Until at last we are again tiny, fragile and crying, waiting for someone to care for us.
What happens along the way? Looking back, I hope I have left as many positive memories and touched as many lives as my parents and grandparents. There is a heritage, a communal history of great deeds that I share with sisters, brothers, and cousins. Have I managed to instill it into my sons and my grandchildren? I dearly hope so. Because, when I am gone, who will tell the stories?
My journey is passing and I have banked on at least the seventy-five years that researchers have allotted to me. Now, I stand in front of the door and wonder how many more days will I have to play with my grandchildren. How many more evenings to sit on the front porch with my husband? How much longer to sit at Grannie's feet and hear stories of long ago? Without the answers, how can I plan? Planning seems so much more important now than in the beginning.
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