49

Forty nine

Feels like timidly dipping your  manicured toenails into the pool of acceptance, not quite ready to dive into the embracement of change. 

Just as you start to count your gray hairs and wrinkles, ads for the latest cream or injection show up on your Facebook feed and you wonder hmm.... is that my miracle?

It tastes like medicine and vitamins that promise to fix you; and sweet red wine that helps you forget what hurts in the first place. 

Forty nine smells like sweat.  Is it coming from your hot flash, or perhaps in an attempt to keep working out like a banshee to prove you are still strong after the surgery?  Either way- you’re not hot in a good way anymore.

It sounds like denial- as you order the sexy lingerie pretending that your libido did not slip out like a thief in the night, and  tell yourself that he still thinks your “sparkling personality” is sexy. 

49 is a grieving goodbye to the  “ultra, controlling me” and a bashful hello to "go with the flow."  

There is no choice.  It is what it is…..and the river flows on.