Watching Mom grow old

My mom turns 81 years old today.

I'm not sure if I was supposed to tell you that. But considering the fact that she has never really used a computer in her life and has no plans to use one any time soon, I think it's safe to assume she won't be visiting our little blog to see this.

In many ways, it doesn't seem like my mom is or should be 81. She doesn't have gray/white hair, and she still moves fairly well.

I'm not sure anyone ever envisions their mom being 81. Their grandma, sure, but not their mom.

Yet there are plenty of signs that eight decades of living have indeed taken their toll on her. She's had a lot of health problems to deal with in the past year, including breathing and sinus issues and some nasty back pain. She wears an oxygen tube when she's sitting around the house (doctor's orders...believe me, it's not by choice).

And most of all, you can see it in her eyes. Getting old is not for the faint of heart, and the limitations it puts on my mom are clearly frustrating to her. She's used to being active. Getting things done. Working into the late hours on her sewing.

She's a seamstress, you understand. For years, that was the definitive image of my mom: either hunched over a sewing machine or pulling a needle and thread through a pair of pants or someone's new jacket that needed to be taken in.

She would sew and sew and sew. We would tell her she needed to take a break and she would just laugh and say, "That's OK, I need to finish this." It was only years later that I realized she did it because she loved it. She loved keeping busy.

After my dad died 14 years ago, Mom stayed active (and still did plenty of sewing). But year by year, you could see her slow down. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there.

My sister Judi started doing more and more things for her. Then, when Judi passed away four years ago, it was my sister Debbie who took over. Whether it's picking up a prescription or making a bank deposit or just dealing with the cable company over an unnecessary charge, Deb is the one who takes care of the mundane, increasingly difficult tasks in Mom's life.

And God bless her for it, too. I step in whenever asked, but it's Deb who keeps Mom feeling safe and happy. I'm not sure I could be more proud of my big sister.

I drove my mom to a doctor's appointment the other day. When we pulled up to the front door of the medical building, she opened the passenger side door of the car and got out. But it clearly took some effort. And a few seconds longer than it used to.

I watched her do all of this and was ready to get out and come around the car to help her, but she managed by herself (and she would have waved me away anyway).

As I drove away to go and park the car, I got a little misty-eyed. It wasn't because I suddenly saw that Mom is getting older, and that our bodies slow down as we age. That I already knew.

It was because, for whatever reason, it was at that moment I realized we had turned a corner. Mom is never going to smoothly get in and out of a car the way she used to. She's not suddenly going to become pain-free or never have to see a doctor.

The reality is that, for the rest of her life, she'll face increasing physical and mental challenges. That's just the way it works. When you get to be 80 or 90 years old, your body and your mind start to wear down. Unless you're blessed with exquisite genes, that's the reality of life.

And I know that. But in those couple of minutes between dropping Mom off and parking the car, I very quietly mourned the loss of the mother I grew up with.

I know that sounds morbid and probably overly dramatic, and I don't mean it to. It's just that, the 40-something Mom I remember from my childhood is gone forever. And for that matter, so is the 5-year-old Scott that depended on her for everything.

As Kurt Vonnegut used to say, "And so it goes."

I know I'm not the first person ever to deal with the reality of an aging parent, nor will I be the last. My own kids will go through it themselves in a few years. (Of course, they think I'm old now...)

It's just one of those life experiences you know will eventually come, but that you don't spend much time thinking about in advance.

Life goes on. Time moves forward. And we either move with it or get swept up.

I just hate seeing Mom getting swept up in it after so many years of being the one pushing forward. But that, if I'm being honest, is more my problem than hers.

Happy birthday, Mom. I hope you enjoy your day. You deserve it.