I have talked before about dealing with physical changes. How looking in my mirror can be disconcerting. Feeling like my daughter is fixed in amber at 30 years of age, but I continue to change, and worrying if she will recognize me when I get to Heaven. I admit I am unhappy with the weight I’ve gained lately, the way my clothes fit, and how I compare myself to other women my age.
So, it was a wake-up call when I got a message from a friend a week ago. I got to know her through Rachel’s marriage. She lives half a world away from me and is 12 years younger than I am. But, we share the experience of child loss in addition to having family in common. She is going through a new phase of life physically and is trying to address her associated emotions.
I love that she decided rather than bemoan aging and all that’s associated with it, she would celebrate that she gets to experience this new season of her life. I especially love that she wanted me to be a part of her celebration. She asked if I would write about how I’ve dealt with aging and changing phases of my body and my psyche. Do I really want to think about that? Here’s an edited version of what I wrote for her:
When Rachel was born, we made the decision our family was complete. My husband had a son by his first marriage. I had my older daughter who my husband had adopted. A 14-year-old, a 5-year-old, and a newborn seemed like plenty of joy and challenges to handle. So, while I was in the hospital after giving birth, I had my tubes tied. No more pregnancies for me. But, for 20 years I still had the natural hormones my body produced without the potential for pregnancy.
My body thrived on those hormones and the energy I had. I worked out hard, but my muscles weren’t sore. If I had to sprint in an airport for a connecting flight, I enjoyed the adrenaline rush. I was thin and toned. My hair was thick and resilient to the abuses of perms, chlorine, salt water, and color.
Also, during those 20 years, each of my daughters went through puberty. They would come to me with questions and concerns about their changing bodies. Worry about acne or what if their period came while they were at camp. At some point each asked my advice about birth control. And, towards the end of those two decades, my older daughter was sharing the joys and fears of her pregnancy with me.
I have loved watching her travel through motherhood. She and her husband are wonderful parents. She’s always wanted a big family and revels in the busyness, chatter, rowdiness, and competition of her four (most of the time). Being a grandmother gives me great joy. I get to participate in all the aspects of their growing up, without having direct responsibility of it.
Still, during those 2 decades, there were events that hurt my female body, heart, and soul. I was 35 when my mother died of breast cancer at the age of 62. She had gone through menopause by that time, but she still had a lovely womanly body. She cried to me that having her breasts removed and her hair fall out made her feel ugly and unfeminine despite my father’s assertions that she was still beautiful.
While my older daughter was going through the experiences of pregnancy and early child-raising with her first two children, I was going through menopause. I’m thankful for close friends I could share questions and concerns with. But, I sure wish my mother had been here to assure me that the emotional upheaval and physical changes were normal.
Then, at 50 I crossed over into the post-menopausal phase. I was happy not to have the symptoms of menopause any longer. And, while I was glad that my doctor and I agreed I shouldn’t take supplemental hormones because of my family history of breast cancer, it didn’t take long for my body to show me it missed them.
Aerobic exercise wasn’t enough to keep me thin; I needed to cut calories, too. It took more strength training to maintain my muscle tone, but OUCH my joints protested heavy weights. I needed to change my fitness routine. No amount of toning could hide all of the middle-aged sag. Supportive undergarments and bathing suits with lots of uplift became necessary. I developed a bunion on my foot that required surgery. No more pointy-toed high heels for me. Not fair!
Then, about the time I had gotten used to no one being surprised that I had daughters in their 30s, Rachel died.
Losing Rachel, a product of my own body, evidence of my own femininity and motherhood, left me ripped apart. Due to certain health issues, she was never likely to give birth herself, but she and her husband had talked about being foster parents and possibly adopting children. I would have loved being witness to their experiences as parents.
Losing a child has changed me fundamentally. But, almost 6 ½ years later, I have come to accept that LIFE changes us fundamentally. If we are given the privilege of living to a ripe old age, we will change. Our bodies will change. Our likes and dislikes will change. Our family members and family dynamics will change. People we know and love will come in to and will depart from this world. We will change because we knew them and because we lost some of them.
I’m still somewhat dismayed when the face I see in the mirror looks more like my mother’s than like my own. I suppose since I’m older now than she was when she died, I will pretty soon see my grandmother’s face in the mirror. Hmmm.
But, you know, I didn’t care how my grandmother looked. I loved her like crazy. And, my grandchildren don’t seem to care how I look either. To them, I’m just, well Grandmama. And, I love them like crazy.
So, I think if I’m allowed to grow a little, or a lot, older, I’m okay with it. I’ll keep trying to get trimmer and fitter. And, I’ll keep buying supportive undergarments and comfortable shoes. I wish my hair were thicker and my rear-end perkier. But, mostly I will try to love more, to listen more, to pray more, and to accept that woman in the mirror more.
Yes, this is pretty personal and I feel awkward sharing it in this forum, even edited. But, I know there is a grieving mama out there who can not or will not ever hold her own newborn child again. That’s a terrifying and painful reality. She will grow older and change and bemoan the body she once had that cannot give her more children.
Sweet mama, I am so, so sorry.
Hear me. You are valuable. You are worthy. You are beloved. No matter what phase of life you are in. No matter what your body can or can’t do. No matter what you see in the mirror.
You are worthy of the years you are granted. Embrace them.
Laura
A Light for My Path 
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