It happened with little acknowledgement and zero fanfare.
Amelia turned sixty.
She wondered if anyone would have remembered if Facebook hadn’t reminded them.
By the afternoon, the kids had all sent hasty texts wishing her a happy day and telling her to check her email for the gift cards they’d ordered.
She worked from home on Tuesdays. Most of her co-workers had sent her birthday wishes on Facebook, Instagram, or LinkedIn.
Darren came home with take-out, cupcakes from Giant Eagle, and a question mark candle. She watched him in the driveway as he filled out the birthday card and stuck it in the envelope before coming inside.
He wished her “Happy Birthday” and brushed a kiss across her temple.
“You thought I’d forgotten,” he chided.
“No, I knew someone would remind you. Who saw it on Facebook, first?”
“The kids and I thought maybe you wouldn’t want to be reminded you were turning the big six-o.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman? That’s funny. Two years ago I didn’t mind being reminded I was married to a man turning the big six-o.”
“That’s different, and you know it. Besides, you’re the one who helped plan that big party.”
“You mean the party the kids insisted you should have because turning 60 is a giant milestone, and a privilege not everyone gets.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It’s not like you to be so sensitive. We can have the kids over to celebrate this weekend. Maybe we could invite a few of your friends from work and make it a real party.”
Amelia shook her head dismissing the idea.
He shrugged and lit the candle.
“Make a wish.”
I wish women didn’t become invisible when they age.
She blew out the candle.
Amelia took a bite. She loved cupcakes, but the tasty treat seemed to stick in her throat. She walked over to the sink for a drink of water and began loading dirty dishes into the dishwasher.
Why am I making such a big deal of this? It’s not like any other birthdays were different.
Thirteen, sixteen, eighteen, and twenty-one were big parties. The others passed with a whimper, and she let them. Had she been disappointed? A little bit, but life was happening fast, and there was always something going on with work, or with the kids, or with Darren and his job. There never seemed time for more than blowing out the candles and opening hastily wrapped handmade gifts from the kids. She loved those gifts. Every one of them was saved in the box with old love letters from Darren and other selected mementos of her life.
She always went all out for Darren and the kids. The parties were never extravagant – the cakes were homemade, and every detail was thoughtfully planned out. The gifts were lovingly wrapped. Nothing was last minute.
Darren came up behind her and put his arms around her moving his hands slowly down her abdomen.
He kissed the back of her neck.
“You don’t look a day over forty. In fact, you still look like the coed who made me work so hard to get that first date.”
He turned her to face him.
“That first kiss… first glimpse of heaven,” he continued. “Take me to bed and take me to heaven.”
Same old Darren. In his mind, flattery and sex were always the quickest ways out of the doghouse. Amelia wasn’t offended. It was who he was and how he apologized. It was just so predictable.
Maybe being treated as desirable wasn’t such a bad way to celebrate turning 60. Darren, inspite of his shortcomings and cheesy seduction lines, knew his way around her body. Sex was never disappointing.
Lately, all she’d read on social media were posts from or about politicians telling her women over 50 didn’t care about women’s issues. Their main purpose in life was now supposed to be caregiver for their grandchildren, so their grown children and their spouses could afford to go to work without worrying about the cost of daycare. It never occurred to them women over 50 might still have careers or not have children or grandchildren.
Online, she was bombarded daily with articles telling her how women of a certain age should and shouldn’t dress, wear their hair, do their makeup, behave in public, and behave in private. The authors seemed angry and condescending. She was also warned about trying too hard to look younger. That, according to these so-called experts, was even worse than growing old. It was just plain embarrassing.
Everybody had an opinion, except the women who actually were over fifty or sixty. They were amazingly silent. Their opinions didn’t seem to matter. They seemed to be missing, invisible, forgotten.
In Amelia’s opinion, she was screwed no matter what.
She didn’t like it, but she’d come to certain realizations. Men and women had different shelf-lives and best-by dates. Wrinkles on a man could be sexy. On a woman, they were tragic. Men could make babies in their golden years. Once a woman lost her ability to procreate it didn’t matter how youthful or fit she was, she was relegated to the sidelines.
With the exception of righting a few missteps, would she really want to turn back the clock? To know less than she knew now? To be juggling all those responsibilities again?
No, of course not. She liked her life, and she liked the person she was because of that life. Still, she wanted to be recognized as so much more than the stereotype society assigned to women her age.
She loved spending time with her grown kids and her grandkids, but she still had so much more to offer this world. Why didn’t anyone seem to care?
Why was she supposed to dread birthdays and getting older? She excelled at Pilates and Yoga classes taught by women half her age. Her weight, blood pressure, heart rate, cholesterol levels, and blood sugar were excellent, not just excellent for a woman her age. Those were her doctor’s words, and he wasn’t known for giving out compliments.
The doctor’s office was the one place where age did matter because the risks of certain medical conditions or diseases increased or decreased with age. If she was holding her own there, that’s all that should matter.
Maybe the concept of aging had a shelf life nobody ever bothered to consider. Sure, people spouted platitudes about being as old or young as you feel, and 60 is the new 40, but did they really mean it? Amelia’s mother was still referring to other people as old when she was in her eighties. It seemed ridiculous then, but maybe her mom was onto something. Aging happens, but does getting old have to happen?
Amelia took Darren’s hand and smiled as they walked toward the bedroom.
No one’s old tonight.