A Rusting Steel Magnolia

 I once had an elderly friend, the great-grandmother of my daughter's high school boyfriend, who lived with him and his adopted mom, who was his grandmother.  The g-grandma's name was Gertrude.  She was my kind of woman.  (Actually, both g-grandma and mom/grandma were, but Gertrude was a character that I grew to love.)  Gertrude was in her late 70s when her g-grandson and my daughter were dating.  I was in my late 40s.  We were going somewhere together--probably a high school band competition--when we needed to walk across some slushy/icy pavement.  I instinctively linked my arm into hers as we walked, to help steady us both.  She looked at me in total disdain and said, "Don't put me in that category yet!"  I chuckled and let go of her arm, telling her that I was hoping she would hold me up, but I got her message loud and clear.  She wasn't ready to be considered an old person.  Kinda like my own grandmother who somewhat resented being put into a nursing home after surgery, saying she didn't like being around those old people.  She was in her 70s at the time and had been in a wheelchair for years.  

All my life, I have been fiercely independent.  While I thought I should be able to rely on people to help take care of me, they never did.  I always ended up, by design or consequence, taking care of them.  When I divorced my daughter's father, I was convinced that I could have another mate if/when I wanted one, but I didn't look.  I never, ever, was afraid of being alone.  I'm not easily frightened.  Never have been.  And then I got old.

Disability kind of crept up on me.  I retired two years earlier than I should have, but there were needs at home with my daughter and grandchildren living with me.  I wanted to be there to help them out, and I did.  The bottom fell out shortly after retirement, and I have struggled since with family issues and physical problems.  I'm doing what I can but there are communication obstacles that I can't control, and old age concerns that can't be fixed. 

In all of my independence of former years, I never understood that there would come a time when I could no longer take care of myself.  The time is now.  Fortunately, I have a helper.  She can't do everything, but she does a lot.  Every day on my own is both a blessing and a curse.  This old steel magnolia is rusting.  I'm in a limbo, of sorts, scarcely knowing what to do about the tough questions because my next of kin is so far away and seemingly out of touch.  Every new day brings new questions.  I consider each revolution around the sun to be a blessing, but I need to be tending to details while I still can.  The pandemic has turned me into a lump, and I'm not happy about it!  But...but...I keep plugging along.  

Can't keep a steel magnolia down for long...I hope...even with rust.