I glanced at the list of prompts I gathered last month to use if I get stuck. I see “Five years from now, I will be…”
In five years, I’ll be 59.
I sat with my sister at lunch yesterday who is 59 now and she was telling me about her plans for celebrating her August birthday. Yet, she hesitated to say that word that means the number that comes after 59 out loud. “I can’t believe I’m going to be sixty?” she said painfully.
When I was only 25, my father passed away suddenly from a heart attack actually on my 25th birthday. He was 55. The age 55 became an age for me that seemed so far off in the distance. An age to me that meant a good, long life. An age to mean that meant a dying age. Yet, that is my number next year. “Really?” I think.
There’s a part of me that struggles to see beyond double 5s. Maybe I’ll still be teaching. Maybe our family will grow to include a significant other. Maybe they will grow and I’ll have a grand baby to read Silly Sally to. Lots of maybes…
For now, I’m just going to try to make the most of each day because I know from experience that five years from now isn’t always a given.