Mom at 91
Aging. The whole topic of aging is loaded with unexploded emotional and self-worth landmines. We never know how to navigate around aging safely. Young people want to look older. Older people want to look younger. People lie about their age so often they actually forget how old they are. They avoid talking about their age, worry about their age, or refuse to accept aging in awkwardly obvious ways.
But aging happens to all of us until we move on to the next existence. My mother was no exception. Mom lived to be a youthful looking 91. Sometimes she insisted she was younger and sometimes she pulled the aged old lady card. God forbid you should guess one way when she was intending the other. Mostly she seemed proud of being so elderly “without losing my marbles.”
Best example was when she was 90. I took her to the Clinique makeup counter. Being a gregarious, sharp-witted woman, she struck up a conversation with the young salesperson.
Mom: You know, I started using Clinique makeup when it first came out.
Salesperson: (taken off guard): Really?! That’s amazing. No wonder your skin is so beautiful.
Mom: (proudly) Yes, I like to stick with high quality products. No perfume and so forth. Good for the skin. Guess how old I am?
This is such a loaded question. We’ve learned, usually painfully, that when someone says this, we’d better knock off 10 years or add 5.
We know they have something riding on the answer. Pride usually.
Salesperson: Wow, I’d say you’re about 72 years old?
Mom: (giving me the don’t-say-a-f*ing-word side eye): My, you’re good at this! That’s exactly right.
I did mention she was 90 when this happened, right? She bought me a lipstick for for keeping my mouth shut. We both laughed about it later. It still makes me laugh. She was quite the pistol, my mom.
Now that I’m older, I realize I’ve taken Mom’s unspoken advice to heart. Yep, I’m over here hanging onto my marbles and maybe lying like a rug about my age.
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