My two beers

Had a conversation with my mom last night, she noted the passing of a dear friend's mother, who was in her 80's.  She had lived a full life but spent the last years needing support (which I think we all will need, albeit science has made us almost inextinguishable, like the Duracell Bunny). 

Apart from the sadness in my mom's voice, I noted this worry.  Without saying it I knew she was thinking "Will I be a burdon to my children when I'm that age?"

My mom is so fabulous, so wiry and funny and pretty I can't imagine it ever happening.  I feel weary enough at times to see me sooner in that wheelchair than I could see her. 

My paternal grandma lived her last years in a lovely little apartment with all her lovely little things (although fully attended by a team in her residence).  No tragic drawn out departure, she slept her way to heaven.  Fiercely independent from the day she was born, she also went that way too.

I see the shared benefit of elders' independence. While I'd love to be the picture perfect granma to my children's kiddies in my 80's living in the guest house and planting tulips, I doubt it'll happen.  It didn't work on Desperate Housewives: a whole pagent of in-laws and moms have paraded down Wisteria Lane and none of them were asked to stay.  It ain't gonna work  for me.

Out of necessity and their right to sanity, I just might have to do with my inherited till-my-dying-day independence genes, two beers and a Sex in the City CD.