This isn’t the post I was planning on writing this weekend. But I was slapped upside the head with a realization this week I can’t ignore.
My parents are getting old.
I try to ignore this most of the time. I am blessed with parents who are in very good health for their age (they are both 75). We have talked about what’s in their will and and what their wishes are for their funeral, but it’s always been a “someday a long time from now” conversation.
But a couple days ago one of my dad’s good friends passed away. My mother was listing off all the guys from the gang “back in the day”, and my dad is dangerously close to being the last man standing. That hit me right in the feels.
I am the black sheep of the family, and there are certainly times my parents and I get on each other’s last nerves. But I’m not ready to be without them yet. I don’t know how to even process the idea. And most of the time, I simply choose to not to process it. I put it “in a box” in the back of my brain and leave it there.
Hearing about the number of my dad’s friends who have passed forced that box front and center. I had a pity party for myself. Then I realized that I was being selfish. My parents are burying yet another of their friends.
Time is marching on. Just as it always has.
Time is a bitch.