Thursday, August 5, 2010

I want to die young, I think

I hosted tonight.

 That in itself is a worthy story, but not what's on my mind right now. There was a table of three, a couple with a nurse, a man who wielded his cane awkwardly, walking with extreme effort and pain. His wife walked slowly behind as the nurse led him to his seat, and we joked a bit. They were so nice, so funny.

They enjoyed a leisurely meal, and I could hear them laughing over the top of the salad bar.

He needed to use the restroom before he left, and the nurse informed me she'd be going with him, so I checked the men's room and gave them the all clear. It took ages, and the wife stood at the door waiting.

 I tried not to notice as she brushed the tears away as she watched her husband struggle to walk the thirty feet from bathroom to exit, but eventually I handed her a napkin, because it was clear that her hands couldn't keep up.

 She lost control and ducked out. I don't want to do that.

 I don't want my kids to see me old, I want them to know me now. I want them to remember that mommy was a great book reader, and a great shopper, and gave killer pony rides. I want to die being able to eat cheeseburgers and ice cream and steak, unblemished by the hands of time, unconcerned by the evils of cholesterol or heart failure.

And I don't want to be the wife at the door.

How selfish am I?

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