Life sends a message, loud and clear

I must be getting old. I signed up for Medicare last week. How is it possible that I am old enough to do this?
It was just yesterday that I was sitting in Mr. Payne’s sixth grade class watching him chase Mike McFarland out the door and down the sidewalk. Yes, that really happened. I can’t imagine a teacher doing that in today’s world.
It was just yesterday that I was scrambling down the barn rafters to pet a newborn calf. The calves are long gone, having been turned into hamburger or steaks. Even the barn is gone, burned to the ground and replaced by a bland, metal structure.
It was just yesterday that I took the bus to my first real job in the mail room at NCR in Dayton, Ohio.  Three other girls and I spent days stuffing envelopes and stamping them “confidential,” or “for your eyes only.” The building and even the street are gone now, replaced by a grass-covered lot. Perhaps another business has taken up residence and other young girls are working their first real job there. It has been years since I have driven past that area. Who knows what has changed?
It was just yesterday that I welcomed my baby girl into this world. She was so tiny, so soft, so perfect, so loved. How is it possible that she not only has children, but that they are all in school? Each has their own, unique personality. Each is precious in their own right. Each is creating their own store of memories to ponder upon some day.
So many things have changed. I look in the mirror. The reflection shows multi-colored hair, saggy skin and more scars than I am comfortable with. But that is not what I see. I see a freckle-faced girl with round, dark eyes. I see a trim teen with silky, brown hair down to there. I see a tired young mother with a house full of toddlers. I see an older mom wondering how to deal with a sulky teen who has transformed from a perfect angel to a demon child, seemingly overnight.
I see all of these different people in the mirror. They are all still inside me. I remember the feel of a calf’s soft fur, the scratchy hay, the fear of being caught by a protective cow. I remember the comforting smell and darkness of the barn.
I remember the adventure of beginning a new job, only to have the newness quickly settle into routine. I still feel the deliciousness of not being responsible for anyone but myself, all the while luxuriating in the familiar comfort of being married to a wonderful man for more than half my life.
So many things have happened in my lifetime, the race riots in the 1960’s, several presidents, changing attitudes towards what is and is not acceptable behavior, feasts and famines across the world, all of the moon missions, the birth of my daughter and grandchildren, the deaths of my loved ones and so much more.
I am now the oldest one in my immediate family. All the grandparents, parents, uncles and aunts have passed on. The thought that I am now the matriarch makes me queasy. Never, in my wildest dreams did I think I would live long enough to collect Medicare. I have three more months before it officially begins.
The freckle-faced kid in the mirror screams, “I’m not ready to be old!” The creakiness in my joints and all the other minor ailments whisper, “Yes, you are.”
It is simply one more rite of passage, one more chapter, one more change to get used to. It is life telling me loud and clear that I may not be old but I am also not young anymore.