Tuesday, October 25, 2005

When I'm Fifty-eight . . .

How did I get to be 58? Fifty-eight years old today. I can’t be that old.
I’m still the little girl who pounded out stories on the Royal portable typewriter, a Christmas present from a father who hoped it would inspire the girl to be a secretary – wrong, Pop.
I’m still the teenager who dressed in her best black suit and heels to see the Beatles at the Baltimore Civil Center.
I’m still the young mother dressing her daughter in homemade Halloween costumes.
I’m still the woman struggling with raising that daughter alone while maintaining a career.
I’m still the woman who cried over lost loves –men who left her through death or their own devices.
I’m still the woman who cared for her mother and was with her father when he died.
I’m still the woman who battled cancer twice and won.
I’m still that girl, that teenager, that young mother – that woman.
I guess that’s how I got to be 58.

Will you still need me? Will you still feed me when I’m sixty-four? Lennon/McCartney


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