I remember her hand-made dresses and high heels. I remember her matching jewelry and painted lips. I remember going to the salon with her every week to get her hair done. But I don't remember when she traded in her stylish duds for elastic pants and her pumps for white leather sneakers.
It seems I woke up one day and my mom was old. I don't mean that in a disrespectful or hurtful way. She is in her seventies now and comfort is king in her world. As she swapped styles, my mom also seemed to lose a little confidence. She seems more fearful now, needs my dad by her side more and stays home a lot more.
Watching my parents age was never as difficult for me as it became when I moved home two and a half years ago. Now, I witness changes from the front lines. And it scares me. It also makes me very sad. I am hyper-sensitive to their quirks and to the way they do things so when something is the least bit different, I worry and I ask a lot of questions. More questions than my dad likes me to ask.
I remember when life was easy. I remember when I didn't have to worry about anything because my parents did all the worrying. I remember when I was just the kid. But I had no idea that would all change one day and I would be looking out for my mom and dad.