#150

150 is the age my husband and I plan to live to. We always said we would love each other until we were 150 when we would die simultaneously. I don’t know why we picked that age except that it seems so unobtainable that it would surely cover all bases.




They say you feel immortal in your teens and I certainly did my share of stupid things. One of the stupidest probably came in my early twenties when I invited my future husband, whom I only knew from internet chats, to come visit me and meet me in my apartment. Luckily he showed up with roses and not an axe.



Certainly the hint of personal mortality crept in when having children. I was, and still am, deathly afraid of c-sections although I’ve had two and am heading for number three. It’s hard to feel invincible when someone else is in control.



I have lost grandparents, but that seems sad, but normal. That didn’t bring home my own mortality, because that was “the natural order of things”.



Losing Eric was so totally unexpected I have no way to describe it. I have no context for it. There are times when it truly brings home a sense of mortality and times when it seems so unreal that it can’t.



A friend of mine today described her husband’s death over 40 years ago as feeling as if it happened yesterday and as if it never happened at all. I understand that.



I think it is a protective mechanism to deny our mortality, otherwise we can’t help but live in fear, and that is not living.



So I’m going to continue to plan to live until I’m at least 150. But maybe a little less recklessly.