June 28, 2013--Mon @ 105; Me @ . . .

It is difficult to continue to pretend that one is anything but old when one's mother is 105.

Today that becomes my reality.

Until she turned 100, my mother didn't tell the truth about her age. Not unlike many of her generation and gender, claiming that she was younger than in fact she was or insisting on buying shoes at least a half a size too small was expected. But then, when she became 100, Mom reversed gears and every six months proudly told everyone, "I am 101-and-a-half today."

And they would say, "But you don't look a day over 90."

Then and today my mother is amazing for much more than longevity reasons.

Though she is not as light on her feet as she was just a year ago, there is very little, very little medically to be worried about. Blessed in this way, that means she can continue to be her remarkable, at times perfect self.

More the one to do the taking-care-of than needing care; on most days more concerned about the state of our country and the world than concerned about herself; more interested in the welfare of her large extended family than interested in focusing on herself; and more attuned to the tremors of uncertainty that shape the lives of friends about whom she cares than to those that occasionally rattle her equanimity.

Though it may be expected that I today would focus entirely on her, including sharing examples of her grit and wisdom, I want also to say a word about how I am experiencing this remarkable passage of time.

OK, after one example:

While visiting with her today (to celebrate quietly the passing of the last day of her 105th year) she told us about how she is living in two worlds--has a foot in each, is the way she put it. One foot is in the world of the very old, of those waiting illness and death; the other world in which she also lives is that of the young--how she often feels, that in spite of her age, she is in young. Very young.

"At those times I believe I am thinking like a young person and have my whole life ahead of me." She chuckled, "And I suppose I do. Whatever is left for me is that 'whole life ahead of me.' And when I think that way, which is more often than you might imagine, I make plans, I think about what I can do to make things better in the world. Just the way you young people do."

That latter comment--about "you young people," generously including me among them--is a good segue to how I am experiencing her gathering of years.

As former children, as we all are, in some ways it is impossible to think about oneself as old. We are our parents' children even if they both are gone. I will always be my father's son though he passed away more than 15 years ago and this will be true after my mother is called. For as old as I in fact get, for as long as I live, I will be her son.

But having a living parent is different. It contributes to the sweet fiction that one is literally young. No matter the actual number of years--and mine is becoming significant--it is much easier to think about oneself as a child and to be comforted by the assumption, excluding tragic circumstances, by the feeling that as long as you remain a child of any age you will have a parent to take care of and protect you.

So, unlike my mother, I haven't yet switched gears to fess up about my actual age, I avoid bright lights when near mirrors, and am OK with the fact that I wear size 13 shoes.