What I wasn't told ...

Red are my stretch marks,

Slashed across my belly and thighs,

Purple are my leg veins,

So knobbly and knotty,

Lavender strings just under my skin,

Black is my chin hair,

It needs to be shaved,

Unwanted brown strands,

Sprouting from nostrils, ears,

What I wasn't told,

About getting old.

Body like a bull frog,

Skinny legs and bulging gut,

Hair course and greying,

Creases and cracks in the corners of my face,

Shoulders stooped,

What I wasn't told,

About getting old.

Pink face flushing for no reason,

Rosy blush creeping up from my neck,

Full body sweats, soaking and wet,

Deluged without warning,

Inky nights when I cannot sleep,

Confidence disappearing, feel invisible,

Joints aching and stiff,

Panicked anxiety gripping my heart,

Being brave and not falling apart.

What I wasn't told,

About getting old.

Skin blotched and sepia,

Hands orange with liver spots,

Breathe shorter and stride slower,

What I wasn't told,

About getting old.

But wait...

Primrose dawns and bird song symphonies,

Crystalline dew on the grass,

Feeling the sand between my toes,

White and grey seagulls hovering beside me,

Swimming with yellow and black stippled fish,

Floating on my back admiring azure skies,

Travel to lands exotic and new,

Loving the same man for 40 years.

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Acceptance and pride,

About all I have achieved,

Downloading my knowledge,

To an eager class,

Watching the golden Eureka moment,

When a student understands,

Blinking at the vermillion of a perfect sunset,

As it reflects on the shimmering jet of a raven's wing,

Being thankful for each yellow morning,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Being able to be a mother, the pain of giving birth,

The sacrifice and the sleepless nights,

Watching them grow, first steps, first words,

Feeling their hugs and kisses, "I love you Mum".

The privilege of being a parent,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Farewelling my children,

As they fly like snowy doves, on the wing,

Missing them dreadfully,

And always here if they need me.

Helping younger co-workers,

Being a listening ear,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Smiling at my reflection,

The old lady in the mirror,

Giving her a wink because

We've survived this far

Relieved I don't have to do it all again,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Joy at the sight of my grandson,

So new and perfect, the new baby smell,

Transporting me back 30 years when it was,

My turn to bring new life into the world,

Embracing my exhausted daughter,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Realizing finally it's the journey and

not the destination.

Seeing new crimson camellia blooms,

on the tree I planted years ago,

Buying fresh food in the rainbow marketplace,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Preparing a meal for my family as it grows

With partners and new babies,

Pets and neighbors, black, white, brown and yellow,

Finding hobbies, new past times,

Meeting fellow travelers, kindred spirits,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Sipping an icy, mint cocktail with a dear friend, and

Laughing and crying about the past,

Seems like yesterday we were 17 and dancing on air,

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.

Remembering that death is just a beginning,

to be celebrated, not to be feared,

An inevitable winding down of a life well lived,

My legacy for others to decide.

Regarding life as a colorful adventure,

Which is fleeting and transformative,

Learning from my mistakes.

Making me feel bold,

And grateful about getting old.