I'm Not That Girl on the Fridge Anymore

Jared's track record for gift giving has been spotty.  When I turned nineteen, he took me to one of those places that give you a free steak for your birthday.  I was a vegetarian.  On our first Christmas after we were married, he put a toilet brush in my stocking.  But for Mother's Day last year, he really came through.  He went through our collection of photographs from over the years, and chose his favourites. Then he papered our fridge with them.  I was so moved.  When I discovered his surprise the house was quiet--I think people were sleeping.  I stood there in the kitchen alone with so many beautiful memories and wept.

Several days later, I showed my special gift to a new friend.  She saw those photos of the past ten years and didn't recognise me. 

I found my first gray hair this week, and my mind went immediately to that moment.  I am changing.  I am not the same person I was at twenty, and I don't look like her.

I don't know how I feel about that.  Being confronted with my mortality is unsettling.  I no longer have my whole life ahead of me.  I no longer can pretend as I did in my twenties that I'm merely playing at being a grown-up.  This is life and every twenty-four hours, I use up another day of it.  But then I'm excited, too, about the memories that will confront me from some future fridge.

		I took this last photo of myself today