My 100th Birthday

These days, my brain is slow. It’s been about 30 years since I felt like I could keep up with the noise and the hustle. The world moves so fast once you begin to move slow.

Turning 100 is probably supposed to seem like an amazing day. A wonderful accomplishment, the pride of a working body, the joy of getting to meet your great grandchildren. I have been blessed, truly. Three beautiful kids, five gorgeous grandkids, no divorces in my family. Truly blessed.

Once my body hit its late seventies, the pain began to outweigh the promise. The human body is a well-oiled machine, but every machine can rust and break down over time. Once mine started to give up on me, I started to accept that one day I would break down too. I never anticipated the feeling of sitting in a rusted machine where the computer started to fail as well. I’m no longer quick. The term “keep me on my toes” will never again apply to me. I am stuck, sedentary and complacent, watching life pass me by.

There’s a unique feeling when you’re at a party being thrown for you but you can barely participate in it. My brain isn’t even quick enough to grasp the things happening around me. My family and friends are asking me questions to which I need several moments to understand, much less answer. The younger ones avoid me; they know I can’t keep up and I know they’re slightly burdened by me.

My days are shorter now. The shortest they’ve ever been. As I look back at my life, I remember so little. I remember in my youth thinking that growing old would be this beautiful, calming process. I would finally rest my weary bones and look back on my life. The truth is I am waiting for the day this machine finally breaks. The stench of the rust, the creaking of the gears, and the slowness of the computer are growing wearisome for me.