By thirty-five, my life is perfect. And not in a way where everyone thinks so and secretly something is amiss, but really perfect. I have the perfect husband, the perfect family, the perfect town, the perfect friends. Every morning, I wake up to sunlight streaming through my windows and my children giggling and playing below me.
I go downstairs to find my husband making breakfast for ourselves and the kids. My children, Adaline—or Addy as we call her—and Leo, are playing outside on the swing set. It’s a beautiful day, as it almost always is, and I couldn’t feel happier.
After running some errands, meeting with a few friends, and doing some housework, I pick the kids up from school and make dinner. After eating dinner together, our family watches a movie and then retires to bed. As a child, I always wanted to be a movie star or a celebrity, but now I realize that the perfect life is here and now.
By forty-five, my life is still wonderful. Addy’s moved out of the house now and is studying at Columbia University in New York, pursuing her dreams of becoming a teacher. Leo will be graduating high school in a few months, and Henry and I could not be more proud of the both of them.
My routines have changed with one kid instead of two in the house, but I’ve gotten used to it. When Leo moves out, I know I’ll be a mess, but I can’t be too upset, because this is the life I’ve always wanted. I really can’t complain.
By fifty-five, life is growing and changing. I’m getting older, more tired. Addy’s twenty-eight now, teaching full time at an elementary school not far from here. Leo’s building an architecture business. Both of them have so much to be proud of. Addy’s engaged to be married by the fall, and Leo has been in a relationship for almost a year that he is quite serious about. I can’t wait to have grandkids and be able to fall in love with children all over again. Henry and I lead quiet lives, but he’s my rock, and whenever I’m having a tough day, I lean on him. My life is quiet, but exactly what I’ve always desired.
By sixty-five, life is moving faster than I expected. I have two precious grandbabies, from Addy, and Leo and his wife are expecting for the fall. Henry and I have been growing old together, facing new things every day. Henry was diagnosed with a mild type of heart disease, but we’re confident that with the incredible doctors he has, we’ll be able to overcome it together. My grandchildren are the lights of my life, and I have so many satisfying memories to look back on that I really can’t ever complain about wrinkles or time passing too quickly.
By seventy-five, life is getting harder. Henry passed away about two years ago, from complications in a heart surgery. It crushed me. I’ve been dealing with my grief for the past two years, and I don’t think I’ll really ever get over it. Henry was my everything, and him being gone is such a heartbreaking and world-altering thing. However, my four grandchildren make up for all that is bad in the world. Addy’s—Jackson and Margot—are beautiful and smart, and Leo’s—Jessica and Leona—are precocious, and adventurous. They each only live about ten minutes away from me, and I am eternally grateful for that fact. Leo’s architect business is going wonderfully, and, to no one’s surprise, Addy is doing wonderful as a second grade teacher. Even with my hardships and losses, my life is one others could envy, so I am grateful.
By eighty-five, I’m weaker. Living without Henry is hard enough, but I feel like I see Addy and Leo less. I understand that life gets busy, but I miss them. They try to visit once a week, but they miss weeks sometimes, and I get lonely. My friends and I still try to visit the country club once a week to have lunch and catch up when we can. My life is and was still so incredible, everything I could have wanted, though, so I keep pushing through, to soak up every minute I get with my family.
By ninety-five, I know I don’t have much time left. I’ve lived in a nursing home for about five years now, and my family visits every day, as they know any day now they won’t have to visit anymore. When I look back on my life, I see a montage of my incredible family: Children, grandchildren, and husband. My wonderful experiences and the people I’ve experienced them with. This is all I could have ever wanted. If I had designed a life, it would have been exactly like the one I led. So, as I leave this world, I leave happy.
Sweat coats my forehead as I feel the rough sensation of something ripping off my skin. Light floods my eyes, and I have to cover my eyes for several minutes before I can make out two or three figures standing in front of me. They lean anxiously over me, as I begin to decipher where I am. I’m lying down on a large reclining chair, like the kind they have at a dentist. To the right of me are a pair of goggles and large pieces of machinery. As the people (doctors, I assume) notice I’m awake, they look at each other excitedly. The one I can only imagine is the lead doctor leans down and asks me a question.
“So, what did you think of your simulation?”
My breath catches in my throat, and I blink, not sure what he means, memory playing at the edge of my mind.
“Is that the life you’d like to buy?”
Maggie Handron is an eighth grader who loves writing, acting, and singing. Her piece “In Mourning” was published in the HYW Amazon Kindle Magazine.
Featured image by Clay Leconey.
