Life, Discontinued

How do people measure that something can ‘increase a lifespan’?

What makes it so people expect that they will live to be a certain age? Why do people say ‘she died too young’? or ‘it wasn’t his time’ if somebody dies while they are young? Lots of people die while they are young.

Their life ended. It was over. It finished.

Did this death cut their life short, somehow?

I don’t think so. I think their death came at the exact time it meant to. Their life did end. It wasn’t interrupted.

So why do they say, “such and such will increase your lifespan” or, “if you do this, you will live longer.”

Well, you won’t. You will die exactly when you were expected to. You might be hit by a ship one day as you kayak the sea on a spontaneous whim. Or you might have your leg chewed off by a crocodile, and die from the infection. You might even die when you are ninety six and three days old, peacefully in your sleep.

You might die after two weeks of heart failure, your organs slowly deteriorating as each hour passes. Your daughter next to you, nodding off to the gentle labour of your slowing breaths.

You might die one day, far away from all those you love, because you didn’t spend enough time with them.

You might die when you are a child, shattering the hearts of your protectors.

How will something ‘increase your lifespan’, then?

It won’t.

You might try to live a stress-free life, to be happier, healthier, live longer, but ultimately you will die exactly when you are destined to.

And that is why they should say ‘decreases risk of disease’, rather than ‘increases lifespan’. Because that is what it does, isn’t it? It lowers the risk of you dying of a disease. That is what they really mean. Nobody wants to die from a disease, so if you eliminate disease, what do you get?

You get death from another cause.

Spring and Aging

On the 11th of April, or even a few days beforehand, it really started to feel like spring. I could wear a light dress and enjoy the breeze on my skin instead of shivering under a large coat. My kids walked barefoot on some grass. The smell of freshly mowed lawn hung in the air and daffodils and tulips nodded blissfully in a sunny, tolerable breeze.

No more winter coats, my daughter wore a dress with nothing on top, and my son raced about in a t-shirt. I turned thirty years old but the woman in ASDA asked me for ID because I looked under twenty five.

That joy I felt at being mistaken for being less than 25 years old made me realise that I am in fact old.

I am a parent, a mother. I had a relaxing soak in a hot bath and my muscles felt more at ease than they have in five years, and I could have sunk into my bedsheets into a deep and healing slumber afterwards but did that happen? No. Of course not. My son was up every hour with burning fever, wheezing and vomiting. I was by his side with a bucket, his inhaler and an oxygen meter. The next morning he was right as rain, ignoring a niggling cough and rushing about with his cousins like he had wings on his feet.

But we’re old. Older. My sister in law has lines around her eyes and my other one says her back is full of knots after consecutive night shifts.

Can’t fix the problems of the world but can ensure your presence in it doesn’t cause anybody any harm.

Kevin Hill

Wed 30 March 2016

You know, I forgot I turn 22 today!

My mum texted me yesterday saying ‘How are you Mrs 22??”

I racked my brains for a bit thinking, why on earth would she write that? Then I realised of course that she was the one who birthed me, and it was almost my birthday.

My husband doesn’t remember, though! I sat back and thought about it for a bit, and realised it actually doesn’t faze me. I know he loves me, and not remembering the date I was pushed out into the world kicking and screaming doesn’t make any difference to that fact.

Or does it?

I guess a tiny part of me would like him to acknowledge the fact. I know he has a million and one things running through his mind, though, so it’s ok. It’s OK. Okay. There.

Also today I was craving chocolate and my little sister in law who is eleven knocked on my door just now and came in with a pretty teacup filled with  Cadbury mini eggs. Which I thought was darling of her, and she deserves a big hug and a kiss from yours truly.

Anyway. I don’t know why I wrote this post. March 30 has always been a special day for me, because it’s just so symmetrical and in my diaries over the years it signified many growth milestones. Each March 30 was more dignified than the last, and each March 30 entry had better spelling than the last. Is it vain to pore over my own history like that? I don’t know.

I just remember small Len who kept looking down at her feet to see if they were any further away from her, and little Len who swore vehemently she would never become a ‘teenager’, and small Len who scoffed at the thought of boys and told everybody she would live in the countryside one day with animals and plants and run in the fields and lie amongst the wildflowers and adopt children and always always always play. She would never stop playing and laughing.

She was naive, and sometimes disillusioned, but she always saw life as an adventure and a happy place, and every month she had a ‘best day ever, even better than the last best day ever’, and she discussed how one can measure a ‘best day’ with her friends who, in those days were kindred spirits, and I don’t know what happened to her. She has vamoosed. She vanished and in her place is a girl who mopes a lot now and complains and is often sad.

So all the March 30s are little glimpses into what she became, and perhaps little motivations as to how she could go back.

Sometimes I wish she never grew up. Horrendous things happened to her and it was all my fault and I am so sorry, but I think I ruined her forever.

 

Lamenting my Toes

Today

As I wheeled by bike

Out into the wonderful outdoors

Fresh, cold wind on my face

Up my ankles

Fanning my cheeks

I heard the trees swishing their bare branches

The birds tweeting

The hills rolled away in the distance

I climbed aboard

I squeezed the handlebars

And I thought to myself

Goodness gracious me

I am twenty two in 26 days

TWENTY TWO YEARS OLD.

Only eight years or so,

Until I am thirty.

When you reach thirty, folks,

You have hit the point of no return.

You’re a true adult,

At thirty.

The truth is, folks

I still feel twelve.

In fact,

I still feel six

Looking down at my feet

To see how far off the ground is

And wonder if I’ve grown a little

I still feel small.

Nowadays,

When I look at my feet,

It is only to have adult thoughts

And lament about my long toes,

 

The coursework that I have to submit,

Or the bills I need to sort out,

Or the..

Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?