Not a Walk in the Park

I'm one of those people who chooses to ignore that which I don't want to handle because it's easier not to allow it to exist than it is to deal with it. Conversely, if it's something I want to do or believe in, I go so far overboard in accomplishing it that I wear myself and those around me out with the effort.

For the first time in my life, I've had an overwhelming emotional reaction that caught me off guard and opened my eyes to something I absolutely do not want to face: I'm firmly into the "senior citizen" category, a fact confirmed every time I look into a mirror, as well as each and every time my body refuses to respond in a manner I deem appropriate to what I ask of it. As long as I keep busy, I can pretend that not only I, but my life, are the same as they've always been, but that isn't true and I must begin to acknowledge it, even if it's challenging to accept.

The trigger is my 45th high school class reunion, which is this weekend. I've known about it for several months as the persistent organizer and I met while I lived in Texas, and she's been in constant email contact with me for the past decade. She is so caught up in this reunion that she's either had gastric by-pass surgery, a major face-lift, or reverted to her second childhood at the high school stage of it! On the other hand, I doubt that I have ever looked worse, and I'm not anxious to be the one about whom the other senior citizens say, "oh, my, she looks so old and she's gained so much weight."

And they will. Or, perhaps even worse, they won't even remember me as I was one of the invisible students on campus in far too many ways.

As I was driving home from class Thursday, I made the decision not to attend the event as I began crying as I left campus and allowed myself a major bawl-out when I arrived safely in my living room. I cannot remember the last time I sobbed my heart out, but I did an excellent job this time, certainly making up for all the other times I probably should have shed a tear and failed to do so. When the hiccups came, I knew the storm had passed, and when my sister-in-law called to ask what time to expect me Friday, I told her I wasn't going to make the trip and apologized for the inconvenience.

[Aside: she said that was a relief to her as they aren't sure they have taken care of the mold problem I encountered at their home last time I stopped by to spend the weekend and went into instant asthma code red conditions!]

However, yesterday I talked to one of my age-appropriate friends, shared my feelings with her, and talked it out. She already attended her 45th and had a great time, but she is always the life of the party and was very popular in her small-town high school. Although I had friends in high school, I was never well-known and/or popular, and, to tell the truth, don't actually remember much of that time or those people. I worked my ass off all day on a couple of projects I have underway, and listened to loud music as I thought and thought and thought.

For the first time ever, I almost had to hit the panic button when I had the MRI, which has never bothered me in the past. However, I was able to control my reaction by deep breathing and steady, positive confirmation to myself that I could do this. I invited my friend's family over this past week for dessert after we had dinner at a local restaurant and actually enjoyed having them here. They complimented my desert landscaping, both front and back yards, as well as my warm, inviting living room, and enjoyed the brownies with ice cream I served for dessert.

More importantly, I enjoyed having them here and will continue to work to get over the residue from an incident in my past that devastated me and changed me forever from the outgoing, happy-go-lucky person I used to be to the person I am today, much more guarded about the people with whom I share my life, much less my self. There is a guardedness about me that I never needed before, but which I seldom breach, and it's time that I get over it and move on. Sure, I don't know these people, but they also don't know me, so how hard can this be.

Tomorrow morning, Sunday, I'm driving to my home town for the culminating activity of the class reunion, the picnic in the park. Of course, that means I'm also going to have to drive back home tomorrow evening, but I enjoy driving, so that's okay. I will simply be one more senior citizen eating lunch out of a box and trying to pretend that it doesn't matter that I don't remember more than 6 or so of the people I attended school with -- and wouldn't recognize any of them without a name label written in large, bold, black printing. We'll share superficial chatter and family photos, pack up the debris, and go back to our own little corners in the world. No harm/no foul, but I will have taken yet another step forward.

I can get through anything one day at a time.