They say aging isn’t for the faint of heart, and the older that I get, the more truth echoes through those words. There are the wrinkles and the aches and pains, of course. There are the hangovers from only two margaritas and injuries sustained from merely tossing and turning while sleeping. Gray hairs pop up like sun-worshiping daisies and metabolisms start to slow and sputter like misfiring cars. Yet, from what I’ve witnessed from my parents, the hardest part of aging is, undeniably, the heartbreak.
My parents regretfully inform me of another friend that is battling cancer or a loved one who died so unexpectedly, the shock still reverberating. I’ve seen them take calls that make their faces and voices instantly drop. I’ve heard them recall stories of young lives that were dampened much too quickly. Husbands of decades and decades are lost, and friend circles tighten and shift to adjust for the empty spaces that have suddenly appeared.
Several months ago, I helped my mom edit an obituary for one of her best friends. There was one phrase that seemed out of place, and we went back-and-forth trying to find the correct words. A fool’s errand. How could we ever actually find the right words for such an impossible reality? How can you ever accurately summarize how someone made you feel or capture the vast ripple effect of a lifetime of love and friendship?
Unfortunately, my mom lost another long-time best friend this past year. A woman she met as a restaurant hostess in her twenties. Sadly, there were years of declining health, and my mom and her close friends knew that the end was near for their beloved friend. My mom made multiple trips back to Colorado. They had dinners complete with oxygen tanks and silly party glasses with built-in fake noses. A distraction dressed as an amusing disguise, and yet Fate’s outstretched hands would not be deceived. They all knew the reality of what was hovering in the shadows, beckoning from concealed corners. The months and the weeks that had dwindled down to days, even hours. They all knew that they had reunited for one final goodbye.
Most importantly, my mom’s friend knew. She knew the last grains of sand were slipping to the bottom of the hourglass. She knew her friends were there to comfort her as she herself slipped away from this world. While they visited, she asked for her nails to be painted for her final days. Of course, her friends obliged and asked for her nail polish preference. There were typical solid-color options, as well as, one glittery polish. Without missing a beat, my mother’s friend of five-plus decades declared that she wanted the glitter polish. A seemingly surprising choice for a somber situation.
Her friend, laying in a hospital bed with breathing tubes, explained that she was going to be cremated. She said that she chose the glitter polish because maybe some of the glitter would remain in her ashes. Glitter in the ashes. One last twinkle. One last glimmer amongst the gray. A moment of levity in the suffocating heaviness of impending tragedy.
She passed away with sparkles on her fingernails, and I would like to believe that if you looked closely at her ashes, you would catch the glint and gleam. A flicker of shimmer. A wink of brilliance. When my mom shared this story with me, I found the sorrow so interwoven with poetic beauty. The small catch of light in a pitch-black memory.
All we can hope for is glitter in the ashes. For something dazzling in even the bleakest of times. One final reminder of the candle’s glow even as the smoke swirls towards the sky. My heart breaks for my parents and for those that they have lost. It shatters thinking of the inevitable losses that I will experience as I age. When I contemplate the final chapter of my own life, I hope that I go with grace and, if I’m really lucky, a little bit of glitter.
If you enjoyed this post, please share! Want to be the first to read? Subscribe here. You can find and follow me on Instagram too!
Photo by Candace Fox
Shop the Look
