The Midlife Awakening

The Midlife Awakening

Golden rays of sun peek through vertical blinds in the French doors. Chris lies with his tan muscular back turned toward me. I long to kiss his freckled shoulders, hoping to discover pleasure in each other once again.

He moves and kisses my mouth gently, "Morning, babe."

Then he heads for a shower. I remember when he used to shut off the alarm. We'd make love in perfect harmony. Those days are gone.

Chris has a slim perfect body at fifty, and I hate him. No, I love him. I am not sure, maybe both.
Chris looks with hunger at young women sunbathing on boats; those with string bikinis. What I need is a female reconstruction contractor. I need sixty pounds removed, new support walls, trimming and restructuring. I will be fifty this month and long for a new me.

Where do you go when you have invested years into a marriage that isn't perfect? You stay and are grateful. Of course, no marriage is perfect. If it was all good, you wouldn't appreciate the wonderful or pull through the pain. Like having a baby, if you remembered the labor pains, you wouldn't have another.

I would never want to start all over again. Chris is a good man. He doesn't cheat on or abuse me. He never forgets birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas is the best jewelry. He surprises me often with coral (my favorite color) roses.

I look around our house, study the family photos as the kids grew into men. Mementos from trips are arranged on shelves, bringing back memories of special times. A lovely marbled rock that I admired when Paul was ten; he fractured his ankle getting it. That was the same trip that Donnie jumped out of the car when we saw a black bear in the Smokies. The bear reached out and clawed his tiny five year old arm. I was frantic and that scar is his prize possession. There is the plastic ballerina music box Ken surprised me with when he was five. Bobby, toddling around at two, had grabbed and broken it. Chris had super glued and "make it well' as Bobby said. It was awarded a place on the fireplace mantle. .

My life has been filled with getting Chris through law school, having babies, baking, cleaning, and carpooling. Then there was Boy Scouts, school volunteer work, various sports and being the team Mom.

I rode the carousel of time and it went by like a speedway. I knew it was going fast and I tried to capture and appreciate it. There were times I wanted "to slow down but I had a full calendar". Now I look back at those years and I would say to any young person, "Savor it all, the sore nipples, the clothes that smell like spit up, that little voice, saying over and over "come see, Mama". Remember making popcorn chains, dying Easter eggs, and pushing the swing for the hundredth time.

Like a blink of an eye, it is gone. Leave the dirty dishes, flash your husband and race him to bed. I look in the mirror, my eyes are still twenty-five, but who is that older woman? Her body has traveled south of the border.

I am retired from nursing due to a medical problem. But I am not dying. I am bitter sometimes and feel sorry for myself. I need a new look at my life. It hasn't stopped, just changed. Perhaps a richness and new texture need to be discovered or looked at in a new light.

Chris is content. With four grown sons, football on a big screen with surround sound and fishing on a nice boat is his life. I do enjoy the boat. After all, it has a kitchen, bathroom and shower. I even like to fish but draw the line at cleaning them.

The lake is lovely. I have watched but not appreciated the heavenly mixture of sunrises and sunsets God paints. The pelicans, proud and majestic catching fish and cleaning feathers are a privilege to watch. The fawn crossing the cove and the eagles in their nests are all stories waiting for my pen. All is glorious and amazing.

That evening when Chris returns from work, I greet him in a turquoise sweater and wool pants that match my eyes. My hair is loose and curly, and makeup helps.

"Where are you going looking so good?" he asks.

"I joined a poetry workshop. Tomorrow I am signing up for classes at the college."

Later, walking to my Mustang, I have butterflies of excitement. I look up at the moon. I believe it winked at me.

By Kathie Stehr
July 22, 2005
edited June 11, 2007