I read somewhere that the body completely replaces itself
every seven years. Upon entering my 49th
year I considered how this had happened for my body seven times and being the
year of jubilation I decided to take a closer look at the idea and my body.
I had not been good to my body. Surrounded with a fast pace world of
convenience, short cuts and sugar my body reflected this lifestyle to me in the
mirror. As a single mother of four all
of the above was multiplied exponentially.
I weighed in at 230 pounds and at five foot five inches the weight was
not particularly proportional. More than
that I knew that under my skin amongst the layers of tissue and fat toxins had
settled in, with no intent to give up residence.
The cost of putting off till tomorrow; yoga, cooking the
vegetables and spending just a little bit more on me for vitamins or a massage
or a moment had brought me to a point that I was certain I was too young to
feel this old. I hurt when I walked. I
hurt when I slept. I hurt when I
sat. Beyond the physical my mind
forgot…leaving me mid-sentence with a thought whose words did not leave the end
of my tongue. My spirit was entrenched
in a war of survival and had forgotten how to soar.
The realization that I was headed to the fate of my mother
before me caused me to pause. At 73 her
mobility was restricted to a walker or wheelchair. She constantly fought off
illnesses related to upper respiratory.
She could not hold a phone for a conversation longer than twenty
minutes. She was repeating questions and
asking me not to ask how she was. The
most disturbing of all was the image I had of her as a young woman, a grin on
her face and tan I would never hope to have from her days in the fields and
woods, juxtaposed to a woman who anticipated the day the pain and aging would
stop.
My dreams were once large.
I could see them out of the corner of my memory—travel the world, farm,
photojournalism or documentary maker, social change, write. Lately, these were covered with white sheets,
ghosts, and I found myself painted into a corner of “earning a living.”
Maybe what I saw on this birthday was the possibility
earning a life I wanted to live.
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