Nana just called to tell me that 50 years ago today, her mother died. Grandma Tilburg died on August 28, 1962. She died of pernicious anemia and she was 71 years old. I was only 12 years old when she died and I thought Grandma Tilburg was very old - now I don't think 71 is old at all. For many years before her death, she was bedridden. With her gray hair wrapped into a bun and her frail body draped in folds of her cotton nightgowns, she looked tiny and pale, propped up by pillows in the big double bed.
Nana has already lived almost eighteen years longer than her mother. Today when she was talking about the pain in her toes from neuropathy, she said, "It's not easy getting old. These are not golden years." I'm not dismissing her pain as I'm sure that's hard to endure. But I reminded her how most seniors who are almost 89 years old would be happy to have her life of relative independence. She admitted that was true.
Nana was only 39 years old when she lost her mom. I feel very fortunate to be 62 years old and still have the luxury of talking to my mom everyday and seeing her often.
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