She doesn't say it anymore. In her mind, she probably does, but her mouth can no longer form the words.
Twenty years ago, the ages and stages were babies and toddlers and aging parents.
Now, the parents are gone, the children are grown, and I find myself worrying about other ages and stages. The friend in Houston who just lost her job. The friend who is in Georgia with her dad holding her mom's hand as she slips away. The friend down the street who is in a wonderful place in her life after years of digging herself out of depression.
The daughter who is ecstatic in a new apartment in her favorite part of the city. The one who is growing a new baby while watching her other two grow like weeds.
I have been in car crashes and wept for childhood friends who died young. I watched a tornado from my backyard and rode out a hurricane. I lost a baby in the womb and a mother way too soon.
But I won a spelling bee and went to prom. I was in a college play and earned a degree. I've yearned to escape home and been so homesick that I could barely swallow.
I've been to Russia and Belize, Paris and London, Montreal and Mexico. And I hope the ages and stages allow me to travel more... back to Ireland and someday to Italy.
Someday, someone will hold my hand (I hope) as I fade away to my final home, where the ages and stages will cease, along with the tears and the yearning for things I don't have.
And I'll see my friend there, sans wheelchair, with a beautiful voice, singing.
