Growing Old is a Privilege

This afternoon I was driving to pick up the two older kids from school after picking up the youngest from daycare. I had doula client prenatals to attend this morning and decided to use the rest of the day to catch up on some blog writing, enjoy tea and lunch without any distractions and surround myself with beautiful music and my favorite essential oils in the diffuser. It was an ordinary day... I heartily enjoyed my quiet time with zero distractions other than the dog. But it was one of those days where a wave of grief washes over you at an incredibly unexpected time. I was driving; and I was about three-quarters of the way to the school when I started thinking about what I would be making for dinner tonight... Being that it was already half past five and I typically have dinner on the table around six, I figured it was a good night to just grab a frozen meal and warm it up. For those who know me, they know I tend to talk to myself when I'm deep in thought. So, there I was, talking to myself about frozen meals and putting it in the weekly shopping list to buy a few each week to stockpile a bit for late nights such as these. I mean, buying frozen meals from ALDI costs around $6 to $8 bucks and it feeds all 5 of us PLUS leftovers... It's really a no-brainer. Otherwise I would be spending around $30 on freaking nasty McDonald's that kind of fills everyone up and provides zero leftovers. Frozen meals... A simple topic that doesn't hold much meaning. But, here I was tearing up and suddenly realizing that my husband has been gone for 16 months. The last time I had planned to buy frozen meals was when I was preparing for his two weeks away in the Wyoming Mountains. The kids and I practically lived off those damn ALDI frozen meals when he was away hunting with his family and friends. 16 months since my husband was alive and well. 16 months since I've seen him, heard his voice, kissed his lips and felt his arms wrapped around me. They say the second year is when the reality sets in and for some, it's the hardest year in grief. For me, that goes both ways. We've grieved and healed well but there are still days that the entire thing just seems so incredibly unreal. Some days it feels like there is just no way that my husband, of all husbands out there, mine died. My kids lost their dad. Other days, it feels like he never existed. He was here, and then he was gone. In the blink of an eye. My life is now split into two worlds: the before and the after; and I try graciously to dance between the two worlds like a ballerina dancing on a sprained ankle. But these days, when the reality sets in the hardest, when it all just seems so unreal, when it feels like a dream. These are the times when I realize that one day, if I'm lucky enough to live a long life, I'll be saying "my husband died 15 years ago." or "My husband died 50 years ago." I could potentially live 50 or 60-plus years longer than what my husband was allowed to live. But then it hits me. IF I am lucky enough to grow old. Ever since my husband died it seems like suddenly there are young people dying all around me. 20-somethings, 30-somethings. In under 2 years, I will celebrate my 30th birthday on December 16, 2018 just like Ben celebrated his 30th birthday on January 2, 2015; and just 9 months and 13 days later, he was gone. September 30, 2019 will be 9 months and 14 days after my 30th birthday and I'll officially be older than Ben ever was and ever will be. He will miss birthdays. So many birthdays. He will miss basketball games, baseball games, dance recitals, horse shows, band concerts, soccer games, volleyball games. He will miss so many Christmases, Easters, Thanksgivings. He will miss all the hugs, the kisses, the laughter and cuddles of our sweet, incredible children. He will miss graduations, weddings and grandchildren. It's overwhelming to realize just how many years are going to go by and he's never going to be here for any of it. Our kids only got 5 years, 2 years and 5 and a half months with their daddy and my heart aches so much more for them than it ever will for me. It's a privilege to grow old. To experience 60, 70, 80, 90; even 100 years of life. To witness your children grow up, excel in everything they set their mind to, graduate, head off to college, get married, have children. It's a privilege to be called a grandpa or grandma. It's a privilege denied to so many people. Cherish it. Live this life. Look up from your phone. Take in the scenery. Husbands; cherish and adore those wives. Wives; spoil and caress those husbands. Let go of the petty things. Forgive each other. Communicate and resolve issues. Do it for my husband. Do it for the young dad in the car crash that died instantly. Do it for the young brother who fell out of tree and died. Do it for the young mother who died because of postpartum depression. Do it for the young guy with no kids who died of cancer. There are so many stories out there. So many people are dying. Do it for all of them. Live life that they were denied. There's no time to waste. It's never too late to change you attitude about life. Even if you get the privilege to live 90 years, your life will still be too short. But, just remember, it's a privilege to live; each and every day. Growing old is a privilege.