52 shades of grey

The Man's birthday is coming up. In 2 weeks. I wonder what goes on in his head as he faces yet another reminder of death being yet another year closer?

As he looks back on the past year and all those 51 years before that I wonder what he thinks. Is he happy with the decisions he's made? The sacrifices he's had to make to get to where he is? Were they all worth it? If he had the chance to do it all over again- are those the ones he'd still  make today?

When he gets ready to celebrate this milestone with no-one but his mother to keep him company, is this how he envisaged it? That as a result of the life he chose he now has no-one to share it with?

He's not getting any younger. Or prettier. Or fitter. Or easier. 

His waistline is just going to keep expanding; his hair line receding. What ever is left of his hair is turning from grey to white.

He's looking at retirement. Prostate problems. Erectile dysfunction. Memory loss. High blood pressure. Cholesterol. Blocked arteries. Coronaries. Hip replacements. Cataracts. 

He's going to end up as one of those old men in their nude socks, orthopedic shoes, ill-fitting elasticated polyester trousers in taupe- pushing that Zimmer frame around and always smelling of pee.

I on the other hand will dress head to toe in leopard print and find myself a toy boy.

I sure hope it was worth it. I really love(d) him. Fully aware of the fact that that 19-year age difference was going to start to show not very far from now, requiring me to make the  very undignified transition from lover to an unpaid geriatric nurse. But I was willing to take it all on. As long as we'd make the most of the good years still ahead. 

But I don't have enough wisdom and maturity for the both of us. And if, after over a half a century he still doesn't know any better- his choice.