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I kept this article when I was a young mother in my 30's. Mom was in her 70's then and although she had not declined as this so describes, I knew this day was to come. I will always remember her best in her 50's.
In my mind, Mom is always 50- Healthy and robust, cheerful and supportive.When I call her long distance or write her a letter, that is the person I am conversing with, just like always.
She worked long hours came home exhausted but always found strength to see that we had our homework done. Mom was one we ran to with our problems. She was never too busy to listen.
Now when I see my mother slightly stooped, clasping the banister tightly before she attempts the next step, I turn my head. It pains me to see the irrefutable evidence that she is getting old.
I run to the phone in times of crisis to call my 50 yr old mother for advice or comfort and when my 70-something mother can't quite follow what I'm saying, I become annoyed and impatient because I know she is different now and may not be able to give me the magic solution that I have come to expect.
The lance of guilt pierces me. Where is my mother? I know she's in there somewhere. If only I could break through to the real 50 year old person that I see so clearly in my mind's eye, everything would be fine again.
Why does my mother's aging bother me so? Why don't I accept the reality that is clearly before me? Because to do so would be to acknowledge that fact that one day I will loose her. One day I will dial her number as I've always done a thousand times before and she will no longer be there to answer.
I refuse to accept the thought of her not being there for me. It is too frightening and painful. I can't bear it.
Who will I go to when she is not there? She is the one I always could count on, no matter what-never judging me, always ready to listen and send me in the right direction. So, I go on deceiving myself, seeing her as 50 forever.
Where did the years go? I cannot answer that question. It has been asked a million times by others and nobody knows. The only thing for certain is that I am lucky to have had her.
L. H. Colorado, Ann Landers