(…) Standing by the magnolia tree, I think
if I were to live as long as she did, I’d have
eleven more years. And if I were to live as long
as him, I’d have forty-nine. As long as him,
I’d be dead already. As long as her, this
would be my final year. There’s a strange
contentment to this countdown, a nodding
to this time (…)
Ada Limón. From Sundown and All the Damage Done
If I were to live as long as she did
A Birthday Resolution by Orna Coussin
Today, I will enter my 60th year. Inspired by Ada Limón, I do the math: if I were to live as long as my dad, Brian, I’d still have 21 years to go – though the last five would be with Alzheimer’s, so I am not sure who would be doing the living. Let’s write it down as 16.
If I were to live as long as my friend Michal N, I’d be dead 24 years (that was her choice). If as long as my grandad, Jerry, I’d have 37 years ahead of me. Imagine that! As long as George Orwell, I’d be dead 12 years. If I were to live as long as Virginia Woolf (again, her choice) this would be my final year.
I take comfort in counting the years lived to their end by those I admired. Understanding that they were as mortal as I am – I as mortal as they – makes me feel less alone.
Take Susan Sontag, for instance. She died at 71. That gives me 12 more years. It’s a good thing that Annie Leibovitz took a picture of Sontag, her love, dead on her death bed. I have seen my dad at his. Both were looking very different from when they were alive. It’s mostly their colour. So terribly grey. I tell my self: this is my last stretch. I’d better add a few colours to my own ashen self, to make a difference.
