Growing old

When I was about Jr. High age I noticed that Mom had a place on her arm that was kind of wrinkley. It was right below her armpit. The rest of her arm was smooth and pretty but that part was different. I don't remember not liking it. I just remember thinking that she was getting "old." Now I have that same thing on my arm. And because she had it first I have a kind of mixed emotion. I love it because it's a connection with her but I don't like the thought of being "old." The same is true of the spots on the back of my hands. I love every part of Mom. It would be impossible to think about those spots in any other way but just a connection with her. She is my Mother and my hero. I watched those hands as they lovingly put lotion on each baby. I loved their strength as she kneaded bread, fixed lunches, pounded meat, burped babies, fed the clothes through the wringer washer, stirred cream of wheat... I don't remember a time when her hands were not important to me. In fact, a few years ago I found out about a place where they would make models of people's hands and since then I've wanted to do that with my parents.
In 1995, when I had my brain surgery and my face looked funny I realized that people don't really love you because of how you look as much as how you live, how you love. And I began thinking about the most important people to me. I've stopped thinking about their physical characteristics. They seem beautiful to me regardless of how they might be viewed by society.
And the longer they are in my life, the more beautiful they become. The more I love to be with them. In fact, I notice that I am especially drawn to their odd characteristics, like bulging eyes or long nose. It's what makes them who they are.
It's still hard to look older. I'm vain and I don't like getting wrinkles or grey hair. But it takes the edge off when I realize that I am loved, not for what I look like but what I love like. If I'm loving I will be more beautiful every day.