Today marks 39 days left of being 39. Many others have passed this milestone before me - my sister, my partner, many friends and even more strangers. My mum did not. She died aged 39 when I was three years old.
A few years ago I made a ‘40 before 40’ list. It had on it things like buy a flat, get a yoga qualification, and go to the Crucible (yup, for the snooker World Championships). But at the very top of that list is ‘outlive mum’. I technically did that seven weeks after my last birthday but it’s the imminent milestone that will let me put a big fat tick next to it.
Making it to 40 has hovered over me awkwardly for a while, probably in a way unlike that it affects my peers. Many people worry about being married, having kids, buying a nice house, getting a well-paid job, having a pension, building an extension… the list going on. I’ve realised that the reason I’ve done almost none of these things (and I only have a flat cause my dad also died) is because I thought I probably never needed to as a) I wouldn’t be around long enough to need them and b) I wouldn’t know what to do with any of them if I got them as it’s all so far removed from my reality or experience.
For the past few years, I’ve been resolutely telling my partner that I won’t be around for much longer. Having lived through a fair bit of trauma and loss and not having seen my mum get to 40, it was something I’d decided wouldn’t be for me either. It’s not like I full-on expected to get to a certain age and the Grim Reaper would pop out and tell me I needed to get going now (clearly, it would be Beetlejuice that would come calling). The best way I can describe it is that there is a hazy barrier that I can almost see through but not quite comprehend getting through, let alone seeing what’s on the other side.
It’s the same unfamiliarity you have when people talk about going for dinner with their parents, or when someone shows you their family WhatsApp group, or (and this happened to me last week) your friend’s mum comes out out with you! These moments sting every time they happen. Usually you’re so conditioned to the pain you wince a little and keep on moving, but when it’s something like a (big) birthday, the pain creeps in sooner, for longer, and deeper. With age and time though I’ve found a greater understanding of that pain and know that it isn’t always there to hurt me but to gently remind me where I’ve come from, what I’m made of and where I can go. There’s no doubt either that my refusal to see myself in my 40s was based on that deep fear, pain and isolation that sits inside me.
I look back at the 39 years I have had and also reflect on what I know about my mum’s 39 years. I used to think she was so young when she died and yes, she was, but I now realise from my own experience how long and fulfilled a life it is possible to have in four decades. My mum lived in a very different time: working class women were less likely to have a post-school education, they definitely didn’t travel globally, and the idea of moving to London from Scotland would have only been a pipedream.
I’ve always lived my life as if time is running out - having a packed social calendar, juggling several projects or pieces of work, or travelling at every opportunity. I’m sure a psychologist would say I’m worried I’m running out of time, supressing my pain, trying to live for both me and my mum, or a bit of columns a, b and c. (I can therapise myself for free!). Whatever the reason - and despite being afflicted by the mega sads (spoiler alert: we’re all going to get them at some point) - I know myself well enough by this age that I am grateful for the life I’ve had and what’s ahead of me.
I don’t know how much that is but given that my only glimpse into my future is of my ageless and flawless mum, then I can be pretty sure I’m not going grey and getting wrinkles anytime soon, right?
So, 40 - let’s be having you!