When I’m 74
We are now on the 4th season of the Wire and we’re already sad to know that it will end soon (only five seasons), but in a way it might be a good thing. The other night I dreamed Omar and I were being stalked by a killer. What bleeds through this drama more than anything is the sadness both T and I feel about the kids – their lives, or lack of one, brought up in the streets with a world view that is dark and sorrowful. We talked again about fostering a child but I had reservations before that I was up to the task and now I have reservations about introducing anything to upset Tin’s perfect world. Sigh. Fear is no friend of mine.
Meanwhile, I was at the dentist for my routine check up and brought copious photos of Tin for everyone to see and I picked up a magazine to read while I was waiting and there was an article about a 74 year old woman who adopted an 8 year old boy from Ethiopia. Her husband died around the same time of this connection and she talked about how the little boy had saved her life because her husband was so important to her. Don’t I know it – had Tin not come around right after Mom passed, I’d have felt my sorrow heavy for a long time. But every day I feel that my mother is channeled through Tin, much in the way this woman talks about how her son channels her husband.
I know us older parents adopting children are not the norm, but I have to believe that if everyone who was over 50 and had capacity adopted one of the children in the world who needs love, a home, support and a chance, the world would be a better place tomorrow. That I know for sure.
For now, two dogs, two cats, one partner, and one son are enough for me – my life is full and complete. But maybe when I’m 74, I might think about another one.