90, 91, 92….

Well, Mom's back--back to the sunny apartment and the staff that dotes on her with such loving care and kindness.  This time she's using the two-wheeled walker more than last year when she arrived back following a sacrum fracture.  She's more frail, slower, and the left leg is "giving [her] a fit!"  When I mention that I'm not surprised--that the left hip is the one she broke, she says, "I broke my hip?"  So sweet, so very innocent of the ravages to her brain and body that the nearly 94 years has plagued her with.  Yet maybe "plagued" isn't the right word.  Those 94 years have been a gift, and from what I can detect from other residents at the apartment complex (albeit a mostly assisted-living complex), their old age is something they're proud of. We sit in the communal dining room. "Oh you're baaaack!" Marge chortles in her high-pitched voice, hugging Mom's shoulders as she coos.  "It's soooo good to seeeee youuuuuuu!"  Funny to see how Mom's demeanor changes and she stiffens at the attention--especially from Marge.  Marge goes on to sing-song about her own upcoming birthday on March 14.  "And I'll be 98!" she announces, a gleam in her eye, her shoulders straight.  "Isn't that somethingggg?" she asks.

Five minutes later another resident, Arlene, sits down next to Mom and me.  I'd seen a blurb in the local paper announcing Arlene's birthday March 3--90 years young, yet she appears to have an amazingly  healthy body and nearly wrinkle-free skin.  "So you're celebrating soon?" I ask.  "Yes, next week, " she replies.  "My good friends will be out of town and I didn't really want to big to-do, so we'll have a gathering with all the residents here."  She smiles and her eyes twinkle.

Then resident Dorothy rolls up with her 4-wheeled walker on which she's balanced her coffee.  She sits down and announces that she herself is nearly 96.  "Isn't that something?" she asks as her wide, toothy grin dominates her plump face and her eyes sparkle.

"How old am I?" Mom asks.  "Well, you'll be 94 in October," I say.  "Is that right?" she replies, sort of shaking her head as she ponders the info.

Clearly the gals aren't shy about divulging their ages.  One notices their pride in their advanced ages, evident in their body language and their faces.  These women are survivors; they've lived through the Depression, through several wars, through the loss of loved ones, and they've come out on top.

Good company to be around, Mom--good company.