75

Today my mother turns 75. I wonder what it's like to look back over three-quarters of a century of life, love, joy, accomplishment and sorrow. Occasionally, I find myself thinking about what my mother's life was like when she was my age. I've only known her as my mother, but in those moments I try to see her as a woman without attaching a specific classification.

When my mother was my age, she had just sent her oldest to college, she butted heads with a strong-willed teenage daughter multiple times a day (if I'm honest, it was constantly) and her baby was 11 years old. She was (mostly) a stay-at-home mom and I remember wondering what she did all day long while we were at school, obviously having no clue at that point what it takes to run a household.

At my age, she hadn't yet gone back to college for her nursing degree, a pursuit she started when she was 48, the same time I went off to college. She attended college classes with students who graduated with me, students she taught when she served as a substitute teacher at our school. She had long-ago buried both of her parents and two of her sisters. She had children to finish raising and a marriage loosely held together.

There's a 30-year age difference between me and my mom, and I think about what she's experienced in the span between 45 and 75. She successfully navigated nursing school, a grueling endurance test for an 18-year old, much less someone looking at 50. She had yet to anticipate graduations (including her own), weddings, grandchildren and divorce. She lost her oldest sister and nieces and nephews. She pursued a career in public health nursing and a second career working in a crisis pregnancy center. She downsized not once, but twice, each time starting over in a new community. She's read an untold number of books and enjoyed countless concerts and theater productions. A few years ago, she rekindled her love of singing and joined two community choirs and the church choir. Except for a few minor hiccups, she has enjoyed good health. She's watched her children succeed and fail, make decisions she supported and others where she probably thought we'd lost our ever-loving minds.

In the retirement community where she lives, she is a youngster. It's not uncommon for her to be taking classes or volunteering beside 90-somethings or even those who have lived a century of life. She's still a mom with all the concerns that are inherent to that position in life because as I'm learning, you don't stop being a parent when the chicks fly the coop. She's still learning new things and remaining engaged in her community.

If I've done my math correctly, in those 30 years, she's lived 15.76 million moments of life. That's a lot of living.

I'm at a different place in life at 45 than my mother was. Not necessarily better or worse, just different. As I reflect on what I know about my mother's last 30 years, recognizing that I have just a glimpse of what her life has been like, it helps me to see her as a person, beyond a daughter's limited perspective. And I think that's important, to see the people in our lives with more of a bird's eye view. That view gives us a better chance to show love, empathy, patience, joy and understanding, instead of automatically reverting to the patterns developed due to the stations of life that put us into relationship.

I wonder what I'll see if I do this reflection exercise when I'm 75. Life holds twists and turns -- some you see coming, some surprise you around the next blind curve. As the story unfolds, I want to cherish each chapter, each page. I'd like to skip over the bumpy parts, but since that's impossible, I want to be open to learning and sharing the lessons I've learned because of the speed bumps. I want to experience joy more fully, be a little more daring, embrace each day and laugh often. I want to see people without the shades of life I may cast upon them. I want to live this life well.