We get old, our bodies morph and cells degrade. Our buxom parts shrink and we start to sag and shine and pucker in unwelcome places.
But, we kinda don’t care.
Because whatever edge we believe made us distinctive, gave us our dangerous allure, softens too.
If we’re lucky, we’ll remember with intensity the flavor of a fresh-picked strawberry, still warm from the sun, and how much we used to love eating them as children, but not what the heck we were fighting about earlier this week.
The tether that remains between us and our children may tighten. But our children are no longer children.
Wait, that’s not right. They are still children. They are our babies, who can’t possibly be that old already, can they?
It will feel like it’s all too soon.
But there they will be, doing adult things. Delicious, terrible things.
Falling in love.
Starting a family.
And having babies of their own.
And just as we are all born, so too must we all die.
Yes, even you, mister important businessman still waiting for that last promotion.
Even me, who still takes herself too seriously.
And it will hurt the ones we love the most.
But before there’s been time to give up, life will be there again, poking its cold little nose and grubby, questioning fingers at us.
Reminding us that time has not ended.
There will be new things.
And whether requested or not, more peas.
And the tether will loosen. It is as it should be; everything is in order.
And we will finally go.
And the world will go on without us.
But perhaps somewhere out there, years from now, we’ll appear again. In the sunlight glinting off of hair that could well have been ours, in a familiar defiant gleam in eyes that are just our color or shape, or a certain posture or curve of hip that reminds the living that we were too, once.