The Year of the Asterisk

2019 is a year worthy of notation.
Whoo-hoo, right?! Where’s the party?

No party, my friends.
A year worthy of notoriety.
This is the year I officially feel old.
It kind of sucks.

Six months into 2019 and I’ve lost three aunts and an uncle. Special people in my life.
I carry the loss like a heavy shadow and weep for the family they left behind.
I’m mourning the demise of my son’s marriage and the loss of a daughter-in-law.
I know they will be both be happy again and stronger for this experience, but right now, sorrow whips around me pelting me with anger, frustration, and sadness.
I thought my dog was going to die because I selfishly let her get knocked up and the little bitch made twelve puppies then needed emergency surgery to get them out.
I have my high school reunion this summer reminding me that it’s been THIRTY-FIVE YEARS since I was eighteen. In case the gray hair and old lady bod weren’t daily reminders. Fuckin’ knees. Mentally, I don’t feel nearly that removed from eighteen!
And fifty-two will forever be associated with my launch into menopause, complete with full body ignition. That sheen you see? Afterglow? Afterburn! My elbows sweat.
Which might be a contributing factor to my bloated empathy.
And emotional outbursts.

Years from now, decades, even, we will be able to reference this time because of the associations. 2019? The year Aunt Laurie passed away. It happened so fast…then Rosemary, then Tom, and Jerrie. It was a rough period. But we had puppies that spring! Yeah, Miskey had to have a c-section. And it was really rainy, too–and cool. I remember we didn’t have our first 90 degree day until the end of June. And then we had a whole bunch of them which compounded my internal lava flow. Fuckin’ hot flashes. (Maybe emotional outbursts are independent of hormonal changes.)

Surely you reference time similarly?
Events cluster making those particular experiences a larger “x” on the memory map.
A higher–or lower–spike on the mental timeline.
A year marked with an asterisk.

2019*

Not all bad, of course.
But surely memorable.

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About Mary Fran Says

I am an artist, crafter, designer and writer. I enjoy working with mixed media-- applying visual and tactile manipulations to telling a story. Not a lot of market for that, though, :), so I'm focusing on short story submissions and novel completions. Yes, plural. Lots of beginnings, too many ideas, not enough focus.
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6 Responses to The Year of the Asterisk

  1. I am exactly as old as you.
    But creaky knees and extra weight notwithstanding, I don’t really mind being older . Somehow I feel more relaxed as I grow older. So many things that I used to stress over Don t worry me any more.
    My condolences for the relatives you have lost this year.

    • True, true. My perspective has changed over the (many) years and you’re right, in many ways stress is more manageable. I believe I’m smarter about what I can and cannot do. Like squats, lol. I cannot do squats. Thank you for your kind words. These people were surrogate parents to me. I feel their absence.

      • You’re welcome dear.
        It is so difficult to get over such a loss .
        You are so right; with age one becomes more realistic and possibly kinder to oneself.
        And I could never do squats even in my young days

        But we’re not “old” yet.
        Seventy is old.
        We still have a lot of living to do and a lot of fun to have.

  2. Mary Lib Skerkoske says:

    So Saturday I become a nonagenarian! And you think you have problems. Have fun at your HS reunion and give hugs to those I might know…or remember!???

  3. Pingback: A Body in Motion… | Mary Lamphere

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