Age Is Just a Number, Unless It Isn't

    Katherine in Italy during WWII

Is one's age just a number? Or does it mean something more than its numerical value?

I have a birthday creeping closer, oh so closer. Not THE MAJOR BIRTHDAY like 65 but a significant one. How do we decide that some birthdays are more significant than others? This is a question I ponder.

I've heard people say, "Oh, my mother (or father) lived to be (fill in the age) so I'm not worried about turning....65, 68, 70.."

Once I hit 50, I started calculating my birthdays in terms of how much longer I will or have lived than my mother. Each year I "made it" passed the age she died, I was relieved.

Sound morbid? Or perhaps realistic? You decide.

Probably to a risk assessing physician who asks at what age people in the immediate family died and who in the family had what illness, my approach is realistic because it is based on data. 

My mother died when she was 55. I was 14, the youngest of five kids.

Katherine is pictured above in WWII in Italy where she served as an Army nurse. 
She looks good, doesn't she?

And here again, stateside after her tour, serving in an New Jersey hospital, hanging around until discharge. This is where she met my father.

   Katherine in New Jersey. Sorry the photo is so grainy.

I received so much from Katherine, in the brief 14 years she mothered me. I took from her an acceptance of difference, an appreciation of adventure (hell, she served as an Army nurse in WWII in Italy) and a fear of illness, and probably the genetics for celiac for those from the European North, the Scots, Irish, and plenty of UKers are celiac (if you doubt this visit Nova Scotia, Canada or Ireland some time. Completely easy and acceptable to eat GF there). Sadly, she was not a model for good health practices. She smoked and ate tons of animal fat and never exercised. Healthy routines, I crafted for myself.

But as every birthday approaches and I log one more past her last birthday, I thank  
modern medicine, my own healthy diet and exercise habits, and Katherine -- as I
roll her into the celebration. When the current cardiologist says I can openly blame my parents for my cardiovascular condition, I nod in acknowledgement to my parents and move on.

I can't change my history. But on my birthday, I like to remember what I have in common with Katherine -- good hair, a sense of adventure, an excellent laugh, a desire to help others (nurse-social worker-therapist not so far apart), intelligence, and a kindness toward animals. She witnessed unbelievable horrors in the war as a nurse lieutenant stationed in Italy and beyond; during the Vietnam War, she bought me a Mother for Peace poster (you remember the one, yellow and black with the words -- War is not healthy for children and for other livings things) when I was 13. That poster lived on my wall for years (I'd show it except the copyright police would get me).

I love how my memories of her have shaped me. I wonder what she would have thought of a woman president. I think she would have approved.
Happy (early) birthday to us.
Love, Gail 


On a different note, check out my guest post on the glutenfreetravelsite.com.

http://bit.ly/27SEMan
Even if you are not gluten free the site is helpful if you want to eat healthier. And I've enjoyed reviewing restaurants while we travel.

    Dim Sum at the Shang Palace, Hong Kong. Excellent restaurant.