Have you ever seen a picture of a celebrity you hadn't seen in years and been shocked by how much they've aged? That happens to me quite often. I'll see someone I remember from years ago and think, "My goodness, when did they get so old?" And then it hits me. While they were getting older, so was I. I'm 61 years old, and I still have trouble wrapping my head around that number. Mentally, I feel like I'm about 45. I have a 31-year-old son, and although I know perfectly well that I was 30 when I had him, I somehow failed to notice that while he was growing up, I was growing older. I watched him go from a baby to a little boy, then a teenager, and eventually a grown man. All those years were passing for me, too, but I don't think I ever really stopped to think about it. I remember being a child and thinking my parents were old. As I got older, I realized they were really no older than all my friends' parents. Then, when I became a mother myself, I always felt like I was a much younger mom than my mother had been at the same age. Even today, I feel like a younger 61 than my mother was when she was 61. I'm not sure that makes sense, but it's how I feel. And then there's the mirror. I don't particularly enjoy looking into it these days. I see lines that weren't there before, skin that isn't quite where it used to be, and a face that has changed more than I care to admit. I've never been interested in plastic surgery, Botox, or anything more extreme than coloring my hair. That's just not for me. But damn, when did all of this happen? I'm thankful that I'm healthy, and longevity runs in my family. But nobody knows how many years they have left, regardless of how long their parents or grandparents lived. The past five years of my life have been filled with grief, stress, and a sadness so deep that there were days when I seriously wondered whether I wanted to go on living. I don't say that lightly. Those were some very dark years, and I have no doubt they took a toll on me. When I look at pictures of myself from five years ago and compare them to pictures taken today, I can see a noticeable difference. Sometimes I wonder how much of that change came from the worry, the mourning, and the emotional exhaustion, and how much of it was simply the natural process of getting older. Maybe it's a combination of both. I really don't know. What I do know is that time seems to be moving faster than it ever did before. Every year, as the holidays approach, I feel like I just finished putting away the Christmas decorations. And I always put them away on January 1st! Yet somehow, here we are again, getting ready for another holiday season. I think back to being a little girl who couldn't wait to get to middle school, or a teenager counting the days until I was old enough to drive. Back then, a year felt like an eternity. I couldn't wait to get older. Now I find myself wondering where all those years went. And I suppose that's what bothers me the most. It's not that I don't know I'm getting older. Of course I do. I see it in the mirror, and sometimes I feel it physically. But somewhere in my mind, I still feel like the younger version of myself, and I can't quite reconcile that person with the 61-year-old woman looking back at me. I don't expect to turn back the clock, and I know there isn't a damned thing I can do to stop it. I just wish I could understand how the years managed to slip by so quickly without me really noticing. Because I remember being 30. I remember being 40. I even remember turning 50. But somehow, I don't remember getting older.