Gregory Freeman: Milestones Worth Savoring. P-D 2/4/1996

Headline: MILESTONES WORTH SAVORING
Reporter: By Gregory Freeman

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., Feb. 4, 1996
Section: WAR PAGE, Page: 4B, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

THE PHONE CALL last year took me aback.
   It was my mother on the line, with some distressing news. "I don't think I'm going to live to see 70, " said my mother, matter-of-factly.
   My God, I thought. Why would she say something like that? She was 69 at the time, the picture of health, in great shape, rarely sick. Had she become ill? What would make her say something alarming like that?
   It became clearer as she continued. With the exception of two twin brothers who died when she was 2, my mother was the baby of her family. And although she has one brother in his 80s, all of her many other brothers and her sister died before reaching 70.
   Knowing that, my mother felt she wouldn't live to see 70.

I thought about whether there was some validity to her fear. Was there something genetic going on, some family health problem that had prevented my aunt and my uncles from living past the age of 69? I eventually concluded that wasn't the case, since they all had died of different causes.
But I slowly began to understand my mother's concern about her mortality.

I understood it, I suppose, because I realized a concern I've had about my own mortality. Ever since our son was born, I've had a quiet milestone that I've hoped to reach.
   That milestone has to do with my father. My Dad was always so alive, so filled with spirit. I don't think I ever saw him tired. Unlike his son, he was a man who was excellent with his hands, a man who could fix things at the drop of a hat. For many years, his job with the Post Office required him to push heavy boxes down chutes every day.
   He, like my mother, was very special to me. We spent lots of time together. He gave me piggy-back rides when I was little. He took me fishing and tried to get me interested in sports. He let me ride in the car with him whenever he went anywhere.
   I was devastated when he was killed in a freak accident when I was a kid, 2 1/2 months before my 15th birthday. He was taken away from us much too early. He never got a chance to see me learn to drive, to graduate from high school and college, to marry and to have a son. A 14-year-old and his 10-year-old sister needed their father.

Ever since our son was born in 1981, I've been quietly concerned about something: would I live to see my son's 15th birthday? Or would I be like my father and somehow die before my son reached that age?
It's never been a major worry, but something that's been in the back of my mind.
I realized the other day that I had already passed one milestone: my son's birthday is next month, meaning that he's already had more time with me than I had with my father. He'll turn 15 next month. God willing, I'll be able to enjoy that birthday with him.

I imagine that many people have quiet milestones that they hope to reach. I don't imagine that most people wear those hoped-for milestones on their sleeves. Rather, I suspect, they're just dates or times or places that are noted quietly. They might be simple things, like becoming the first person in a family to get a college degree. Or becoming the first person in a family to live for a century. Or living long enough to see your grandkids.
These milestones, I think, serve as small goals for us. I want to do this. I've got to do that. I hope that I can do that other thing.

My mother's concern was that she wouldn't live to see herself reach the milestone of becoming 70.
She's done it, though. She turns 70 on Sunday, still the picture of health, in some ways even healthier than I.
By crossing over the 70s threshold, she's reached an important part of her life. It will be easier, I think, for her to turn 71 and 72 and 73.

In fact, I have another milestone I'd like to see her reach: to live to at least 100 and to remain in good health. After all, she's got a lot of living yet to do.
I know she'll think she can never make that one.
But then again, she didn't think she'd ever live to see 70 either.

Gregory Freeman's column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Friday ... <deleted>

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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