Two years ago I thought I'd never make it: 60.
When I was young I thought I would be old at: 60.
Some say that wisdom starts at: 60.
And others say it's the age you don't have to care what others think about you.
And I like that best!
So I bought me weird glasses. Large round ones with moving lines around them. Like someone scetched the frame.
It's a golden colour, like the elderly used to wear when I was young, and it's supposed to be for sunglasses, but I use it for clear glasses.
And I bought me a fedora hat.
Bought one during the summer, and asked my daughter to bring the winter edition. I thought it was 10 euro, but it was 3, because of the sales.
When it was up to me I would buy a trenchcoat to go with the new look, but I don't think I can here....
It feels strange to buy myself some presents, but the person I once married doesn't care one little bit about birthdays.
When I got 50 he didn't bring me something....
I educated the kids well. So there is some fun.
The girls have made or bought me some girly things.
The boys are autistic in different degrees, so the attention ranges from ignoring or forgetting the day to saying "happy birthday" at midnight and cooking dinner. That's what the oldest will do tomorrow. Well, in fact it's Burns Night for the family. We were supposed to celebrate it the 25th, but we were so sad because of the death of Henry, that we agreed to have dinner at my birthday.
Celebrating birthdays was never meant for me.
Didn't have a sweet 16, or a special one when I came of age.
I didn't have a Sara, which women are supposed to get when they celebrate their 50th birthday.
Never got a surprise party.
Maybe it's the lack of proper birthday festivities that kept me young?
I don't feel 60.
In fact I feel surprised I'm 60....
It's a kind of shock to be that old, and still have so many dreams.
I still think in terms of: later.
Maybe I'll meet a man, later, who really cares about me.
I hope that I'll be able to move to Scotland or Wales, ....later.
But will "later" ever come?
The past is full of good and bad memories.
Full of people I've forgotten and people who will always stay with me.
My friend Monica, who died when she was on holiday quite some years ago now. We made plans to sing together when the kids would've grown up.
Some friends from university, who gave me a home in their friendship. They accepted me more than I did myself. How I wish I would be able to see them again. Once more... even when it's once more.
And my first boyfriend. who asked me to marry him after our studies. It never happened. He became one of the richest people in our country, but he has known deep sadness and has made courageous choices. As far as I know he's not in the country now.
I had to call him to ask him something when the school prepared for a reunion, 15 years after we last saw each other. There was no need to say my name. Within seconds he knew who I was. He enthusiastically yelled it in my ear. He was one of the few people who made me feel to be a better person, who kept me in contact with myself, he made me feel beautiful and gave me self-confidence.
My English aunt, my gram and the Hungarian mother of a friend were my mothers. I've tried to find the family of my English aunt, but I haven't succeeded yet.
And my first cardiologist, who saved my life and who was the first person in a long time who understood me, who touched the real me and made me care about myself.
My grandmother said that growing older was hard, because it meant people stayed behind.
She was right.
I feel lonely, because I've outgrown the place where I live, and my own past.
I want to move forward, without leaving the good memories behind.
So I haven't celebrated sweet 16, but I can try to celebrate sweet 60.
Here you'll find impressions of my life as a mother of a few children with autism spectrum disorder and a person with heartfailure, some critical reviews of what going on in the world, including medical issues and political subjects. And everything else that keeps me busy.
I'm very honest about my experiences with autism, because only that way I can show how much of a struggle daily life with autism can be.
A series of posts
about lack of knowledge,
lack of concensus between disciplines
and the need for a formal diagnosis
with a psychiatric label
to get support for a unique individual
autism and (no) school.
One of our true autism stories Click the image.
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