You know how it goes - you've just finished school and escaped the prison of parents and home to enter uni and res. Life is bloody fantastic and stretches ahead to infinity while you can do anything, know everything and by the time you've had your say and fixed the cock-ups of your parent's generation, the world will be a better place.
First job - magic. No exams or assignments to hand in. No one to set curfews or control the purse strings. Your salary is your own, your hours (outside of the office) are yours to squander as you wish. Life is marvellous.
Marriage and the early stirrings of Grown Up begin to rustle. First property ownership, gardens to manage, dinner parties to organise. Not bad, though you say it yourself.
Oh, your circle of mates begin to sprout offspring. Fancy that. Well, why not?
Good grief, the kids are in Matric and that dreaded Matric Dance (which seems to create more hysteria and hype than the actual school leaving / university entering exams do!) is causing household chaos. At least we're all in this together and wine, a mother's best friend, is lavishly shared.
Can't believe it - every weekend seems to bring yet another 21st party as the 'crowd' your sprogs belong to hit this milestone like bird-shot.
Emptied the postbox and found an ornately scribed, heavily embossed invitation to the first of my varsity friend's child's wedding. Can't believe my mate is mother of the bride - how middle aged!
What'sApp delivers a photograph - a black and white scan of some kind of blob. Oh, the first grandchild hits our circle. Huge gushes of emotion pours from us all as we coo and ahh over every single development until the main event. Then we are completely toast - those precious fingernails and eyelashes sweep us into a wet huddle.
The retirement village calls - your father, the tall, imposing figure of strength and security has been admitted to hospital. The empty hours left by fledged children are now filled with responsibility to someone who is a husk of what you remember. Good thing he CAN'T remember what he was. Or what he said three minutes ago. There is such sadness to watch our roots, our memories, our foundation of who we are desiccate before our eyes.
First parent shuffles off the mortal coil, delivering a swift thick ear. Shaken up by the realisation that someone who, for better or worse, has been around for your entire life has gone and you no longer have parents, you have a parent. And quickly, that parent becomes a late-life child, requiring attention and help which you've never been asked for before. Commiserating with friends as like ten pins, their own parents begin to fall or to fade away into a twilight zone of ill health, both mental and physical.
Sometimes, it feels as though I'm acting in a movie of someone else's real-life story. This can't be mine. Firstly, I was going to live forever. Secondly, I'd like to, please. Or reincarnate as a fly - I'm passionately invested in my sons' lives, I want to be there, discreetly on the wall, watching them to infinity and beyond. How is it possible for time to sweep past, not only at warp speed, but so invisibly I've been completely unaware of it's passing for decades. S'true.
Most annoyingly, since early childhood my parents and grandparents have trotted out the trite sayings - enjoy it while it lasts, time flies, live in the moment blah blah fishcakes. So not only was I oblivious to my passing life, but my mother was right after all!
Stunning!Love it.
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