Countless numbers come together to create the richness and depth of my life. Interestingly, as I age, the definition of "old" changes. 71: how many birthdays I have enjoyed; 40: how old I feel inside; 60: how old my body feels at times. Years ago, when I was in my 30s, my aunt stated that inside she felt 30 even though she was 60, which I didn’t understand. I certainly understand now. 70 felt old when my parents were that age. My father was only one year older than I am now when he had his catastrophic stroke. How is that possible? With limited speech and confined to a wheelchair, he nobly lived with his extreme disabilities for eight years until he died.

2½: The years between my brother Steve and his younger brother Jeffrey, of whom he has no memory. 6½: the age difference between Steve and me because of Jeffrey’s death. Innumerable: my unanswered questions about the brother I never met while silently staring at his photos placed around the house. 0: the days my mother chose to talk to me about Jeffrey.

8½: my granddaughter, when she asks me, “What’s it like to be old, Nana?” To her, I am very old, yet I am not old-old (yet). Certainly not 88 or 98, although that window is closing as well. I remember turning 40 and thinking that 20 years ago I was 20 and 20 years from now I would be 60. And just like that, incredulously, I am long past 60.

45: the age of my oldest son; 42: the age of my middle son; almost 40: the age of my youngest son. People........

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