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Celebrating My Dad’s Birthday: A Reminder That Time Waits for No One
When I learned my father’s age, I was taken aback, especially since my mom is a year older. “But that means Mom is…” I began, only to hear my dad chuckle. “Thirty-nine!” he retorted. But that’s not true, as I pointed out to him (and I think it caught him off guard)—39 is actually how old I will turn this summer.
I left my hometown for college when my parents were in their mid-40s. When I returned with my own young family, they were approaching 60. Now I realize just how much time I missed with them. Over the last decade, they have aged. They now enjoy senior discounts at theme parks and movies. While they remain active and adventurous, something has undeniably changed.
When my kids are at school and the phone rings, showing the school’s name on the caller ID, my heart skips a beat until I hear that everything is okay. I can’t control it—the anxiety came with the territory of being a mother to school-age children, especially as a “boy mom.” But there’s more: whenever the phone rings after 8 p.m. and I see my parents’ number, my heart races again.
During lunch with friends, our conversations have shifted from just discussing our kids, their schools, and spring break plans to include our parents. We now talk about their health—cancer diagnoses, early signs of dementia, and our concerns about their driving and financial situations. We discuss health insurance and estate planning. At 38 years old, I find myself losing sleep over both my children and my parents. I’m caught in the middle, and it’s become clear why my peers and I often rely on anti-anxiety medications and therapy. There’s a lot to worry about when you’re in this stage of life.
Around my parents, I still feel like a child—albeit one with kids who call me “Mommy.” I still see my parents as the authorities, even though I am very much an adult. I’ve accomplished so much: graduating from college, building a career, marrying, and raising children. I’ve bought and sold homes, traveled, and ticked off items from my life’s checklist. Yet, I sense that I’m entering a chapter that will be marked by loss—my children will grow up, my body will change (and probably not for the better), and my parents will continue to age. It feels as though what I cherish most is beginning to slip away like grains of sand. Is this what they call mid-life? Am I on the brink of a crisis?
Amidst this turmoil, I know I’m fortunate to have so much to love in my life, including my own grandparents. But with this abundance comes the inevitability of loss, and I have so much to lose. As I navigate through my daily life, trying to be the best parent I can be (often feeling like I’m falling short), I carry the weight of worry on my shoulders. I’m waiting for something to happen. I’m bracing for heartbreak.
My father has always shared his passion for music with me, particularly Fleetwood Mac. Their lyrics often echo in my mind:
“Oh mirror in the sky,
What is love?
Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
Well, I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I’m getting older, too.”
As my family, both big and small, ages, I, too, am growing older. It genuinely feels like the ground beneath me is shifting in many ways.
This article was originally published on March 5, 2015. For more insights, check out this excellent resource for pregnancy and consider an at-home insemination kit for those curious about starting a family.
In summary, as I reflect on my father’s birthday and the passage of time, I can’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and anxiety about the changes life brings. Growing older alongside my parents and children is a journey filled with love, worry, and inevitable loss.