I knew a time when I didn’t consider turning a cartwheel a second thought – my arms outstretched my legs in a V and during those times falling wasn’t a concern. There was also climbing up on a horse and riding it as fast as it would carry me. I bent easily. I twisted with ease. Not so much grace, but flexibility. My body. My wonderful, beautiful, strong, capable, reliable body. Not everyone has a body that moves through the world without a struggle. I did, though, and now it is deteriorating.
My brother once said that Parkinson’s (which his partner has) is a series of letting go – saying good-bye to tasks and skills you once could perform easily and without effort. I am letting go. No cartwheels. No mindless walking where the tree trunks that have pushed up a concrete block in the sidewalk don’t make me slow down. I need a steady pace. No dashing from the shower without the fear of falling. No leaving puddles of water on the bathroom floor.
This body that for over thirty years was ready and waiting to bring a life into this world has even said enough to that as menopause begins to set in. There will be no children feeding on these breasts. No eggs. No build up of the uterine wall and then the shedding of that miraculous lining.
I grow older by the day. My body has become more fragile, less limber. I see some eighty-year-olds running marathons, that will not be me. For the past eight weeks, I have been bedridden because of an injury to my back and during that time I have dreamt of the lack of awareness I used to possess where my limbs and spine are concerned. I have drifted off to sleep imagining that I was floating in water, free from the aches and pains and weight of my out-of-shape body.
I’m not a person filled with jealousy. I rarely feel envy, but to watch the free-flowing movements of abled bodied twenty-year-olds brings a sting of missed opportunity and the lack of gratefulness and full appreciation of what this marvelous home I walk in could once do.
I know that aging brings with it pearls – treasures of a different kind: memories of how things used to be like life before the Internet, before cell phones, before selfies and if you are fortunate enough, age carries with it more wisdom and an eye and heart for what is truly beautiful.
As I let go of physical confidence and strenuous athletics, I keep my heart and mind open for the freedom to visit the past and soak up all that is precious there; grandparents who have passed on, friends who were taken much too young. I can entertain my young self and accept that she was right about some things, especially that the world is magic and she has mystical powers.