Its common for women as they age to feel like they are “becoming” their mothers.  “When I walk by the mirror, I see my mom looking back,” my sister-in-law tells me.

In 2021 my mom turned 95. That year I retired from my job of 35 years and my husband and I welcomed our second grandchild. Our three children were grown, married and well along in their lives and careers; and I found myself thinking a lot about who I was in my mid-60s and how I want to age. That inquiry is partially about what I will do with my skills and time and partially about how I will interact with the people I love and respond as life inevitably changes in ways over which I have less and less control.

Every time I see my mom she is smaller, literally shrinking before my eyes.  She’s lost a lot of mobility, her bones are brittle and her muscles are weak.  She needs help with the most basic daily functions. Her physical vulnerability seems to have triggered an emotional vulnerability that was always there but is now on full display as she retells her list of regrets. It is hard to hear a 95+ year old woman rehash regrets going back three quarters of a century, but that is what vulnerability looks like.

At the same time her increasing vulnerability has magnified and reframed her significant strengths. Mom has a terrific sense of humor, she is open-minded and hungry for new experiences, she is grateful even though she has suffered significant loss, she loves learning and there are no bounds to the joy she takes in everything having to do with her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  

I used to think I was more unlike than like my mom but now I look to her as a model—hoping that I age with some measure of her strength and grace.

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My 70th Year