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Welcome to Ethels Tell All, where the writers behind The Ethel newsletter share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging. Come back Wednesday each week for the latest piece, exclusively on AARP Members Edition.
I got a late start to building my family. I brought my daughter home from China on my 53rd birthday; she was 5 years old at the time. My son, also adopted from China, arrived two years later, when he was 4, and my late husband was about to turn 70. To those who questioned our decision to adopt two young children at our “advanced” ages, my standard answer was always this: “I don’t think anybody is ever too old to love a child.”
I like to think I dealt with those times with humor and measured grace. When my husband was often mistaken for being our kids’ grandpa, I would quip, “Oh no, he’s their dad. His grandkids are actually much older.” If the raised eyebrow was aimed in my direction, I would say, “Hey, somebody has to be the oldest mom in the class, right?”
I baked the birthday cakes, bandaged the scraped knees, brought the orange slices for team snacks and raised my hand to volunteer in the kids’ classrooms while working a full-time job. My husband was the stay-at-home parent who helped with homework, met the school bus and later taught the kids to drive. Our hearts were always there for them 100 percent of the time.
I fully embraced the role of mother, and as those who know me will attest, I love my children more than I want my next breath.
But Houston, now we have a problem.
Ethels Tell All
Writers behind The Ethel newsletter aimed at women 55+ share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging.
Both of my kids are now in their mid- to late-20s, and neither is in a hurry to start their own family. It has occurred to me that I, now 75, very possibly will never meet my future grandchildren — if there even are any. And if I do get lucky enough to meet them, I wonder if I will be around long enough for them to really get to know me and form memories.
I question whether I will still be a good enough driver so that their parents will let me pick them up at school. Will I be able to chase them around the playground when they are toddlers, or teach them soccer moves without tripping over my own feet? Will they see me and run into my arms without someone shouting, “Be careful of Grandma’s hip”? Or will I just be that old lady with Coke-bottle glasses and a hearing aid who constantly asks them to speak louder?
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