My magic number is 82
One of my goals in life is to live long enough that my offspring don’t name any of their offspring after me~~HM
I’m named after my grandfather, Harry Moore. I never met him. He died two years before I was born. The only things I know about him are stories that I heard from my father or other relatives.
My father died in 1982, at age fifty-seven. He met only one of his eight grandchildren and had only two years with him. The other seven only know about him through the stories my siblings and I tell them. That has really sucked!
Last month I had an appointment with my primary care doctor. We discussed a couple of health issues and the meds to treat them. I shocked her more than a little when I told her this, “You know I have two grandchildren. They’re ages three and one. There’s another due in August. My goal is to be around long enough that they have their own stories and memories about me. They don’t have to hear about me from their mother. I figure I need ten more years.”
She smiled but was a little surprised. Her response was “Why don’t we aim for twenty more years?”
Hmmm…I don’t know about twenty more. My family genetics say I’m not getting those, but who knows? I don’t smoke four to five packs of cigarettes like my parents did. I’m pretty sure those cut down on the amount of years that they lived—ya think?
A few weeks later I had my bi-annual appointment with my neurologist. I told her the same story that I told my other doctor. She shook her head and said “Eighty-two is a good age. It’s a good goal.” I love this woman—I truly do. But then she said, “We need to make sure those ten years are very good ones. Here’s how it’s going to happen!” Then she talked to me about diet and exercise and a bunch of other things that I zoned on. Sigh! I loved her a bit less after this.
The reason for this diatribe is today is my birthday. Number SEVENTY-FUCKING-TWO!!! I have no idea how this happened—especially after my dad died at such a young age more than forty years ago. A high school friend texted me this morning to wish me a happy birthday with this follow-up, “And they said you wouldn’t make it to seventy-two.” I’m not sure who the ‘they’ is but, I’m still here and grateful to be celebrating today. As for presents, all I want is to be able to blow out the birthday candles on a cake with Lev, Hana and whoever else in 2034.
Here’s to the class of eighty-two—I reserve the right to add on to the number as we get closer.