That 'Season of Life' for Women in Their 50s

I can't believe how long it has been since I have written a post. A lot, I must say, has happened. And this isn't one of my thought-out posts but rather one of anxiety and a little bit of fear written very quickly.

My mom once told me that your 50s suck. She wasn't wrong, for women in their 50s, it is when things start getting messy. Friends die. Marriages end. Parents either die or start to fade. Your health and the health of those you love begin to decline. In short, it's a shitshow -- a recurring theme in my daily life and in this post. I have been lucky that it hasn't been until after I turned 50 that many of these things have happened. For some of my friends, many of these life experiences have happened much sooner.

A woman is screaming out of frustration

1. For me, it all started during, of course, the pandemic. My mother-in-law, who has influenced me more than almost anyone, died in the fall of 2020. It was expected. She was 95, soon to be 96. She continued her weekly exercise classes until she was 93, when her body started to wear out. This is when she moved into her daughter Missy's house. Oma, as we called her, was not happy about the move. Every time I saw her she talked to me about how they had gotten rid of all of her furniture without asking her. She was angry. She lived alone for almost 20 years after her husband's death. She was independent. Fierce. Tough. Loving. All the things.

Missy, her daughter and my sister-in-law, was a caretaker for most of her life. She was a mother. Then she and her husband built a suite onto their house for her mother-in-law who lived there many years before Oma moved in. She was the family saint and the true matriarch of the family. She had her edges, which is one of the things I loved about her. She was kind and giving, but she wasn't taking shit either.

After Oma's death, we were all happy that Missy, who was 72, would have time to travel with her kids and grandkids, go out to dinner with her husband, and hang out with friends without worrying about Oma. One month after Oma died, she was found unresponsive on her bathroom floor. It appears she was getting ready to take a walk. She died two months later from a brain aneurysm. It was tragic, and the family is still grappling with her death.

During this time, our house flooded, two days before Thanksgiving, and we moved into an apartment for five months.

2021 gave us a slight reprieve. But the last year has been a real shitshow. I found my dream job only to resign three months later because the work environment was crazy town. I found another job but was fired because I wasn't a good fit. I know. The one consistent in both of these is me. But I like to say that there is much more to the story, but this is not the time for me to get all defensive about it.

My mother, who had been showing signs of dementia for a few years, began to develop full-blown Alzheimer's. She is now in assisted living and no longer remembers how to use the bathroom or bathe herself.

My husband, we recently learned, has prostate cancer. No surprise. Both of his brothers had it, and he was diagnosed at the same age after years of being closely monitored. I was so positive and kept wondering why he was so upset when we knew how it would turn out. Both brothers were diagnosed, had their prostates removed, went through a not-so-great recovery, and survived.

First, the doctors told us, "It's tiny. One tumor. We aren't worried. As far as cancer and goes you are in a great place."

After the scan, "Hmmm, there is a tumor poking out, but we won't know if it punctured the prostate until surgery."

After surgery, "The tumor was not puncturing the prostate. Great news. Let's wait for the lab results, and we will go from there."

After the lab results, "We found it in one lymph node. It was hard to find. We will have to do a blood test and if your PSA is anything above point zero we know there is cancer in other parts of the body. If not, good news and we will do regular blood tests just to be sure."

The meeting about the blood test is tomorrow.

One question my circle keeps asking me is, "Do you want to drink?" No. I don't want to drink. I wouldn't even think about it if people didn't keep asking me.

However, I am leaning on my eating disorder, which is not ideal. But, I am working on it with my doctor.

But here is the thing. I am fine. Six years ago if all of these things had happened. I would have fallen apart, used alcohol as a crutch, and not been present. But not now. I am here for every moment. It hurts, but I love being able to feel every single thing.

Today, I am sober with a circle of nurturing friendships and a spiritual practice. I am worried, but I also know that this is life. I can handle it. Writing about this morning has also helped. So thank you.