We Were Young

We WERE young.
Last year, my last in my twenties, I felt young.
Despite a three year old wearing me out, I felt young.
When I saw students I had taught, also in their twenties and with children, calling me "Miss", I still felt young.
When I looked at my husband, I still saw the young man I fell in love with. The natural ease in his smile and the laid back look in his eyes.
Even being 9 months pregnant and finishing my last week at work in a hot September classroom, I felt young.

It's not time that ages us. It's stuff.

It's the things that happen to us, the good things, the great things, the funny things and the sad things. Some of this 'stuff' keeps us young, some of it ages us.

The three year old kept me young, I have had to learn all the characters from Fireman Sam and can pretty much nail their accents if needed...young.

I know, and can identify on sight, most of the marvel 'good guys' and a beat number of 'bad guys' too...young.

Keeping up with the students in the classroom, being able to name at least three Kardshians...young.

Knowing who was top of the Premier League and who had bitten who in the last match...young.

I'm not sure, but feel pretty certain that being able to rap all of the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, most of Ice Ice Baby and have a good go at Rapper's Paradise qualifies me as young.

I WAS young. We WERE young.

Then our daughter died. She was still born.

I look at photos of before that day and after and I see two different women looking back.

Since then I have had my thirtieth birthday, and people ask me how does it feel to be in my thirties now. In all honesty, it felt the same as the last day of my twenties. But if I compare year on year...I feel I have aged a decade.

It wasn't my birthday in April that aged me. It was my daughter's, last October that piled the 'oldness' on.

Not just feeling it myself, but telling everyone and seeing everyone else feel it, and being helpless too it...older now.

The dry sarcasm I have when people use phrases that make me bristle, 'lost my daughter' 'at least you have your son'. I didn't lose her, I know exactly where she is and my son is not a consolation prize... older now.

There are times when I feel young again, or more the memory of youth is still there, like a familiar smell or an old pair of jeans. But I realise, once I've buttoned the jeans up and start to feel comfy, that they have a hole in the knee, they aren't the same jeans anymore.

When I see photos of those times (when I feel young for a moment, when I forget) and I can remember how I felt, but I just don't see it in my face anymore. I look older now.

I was young. Not so much anymore. But it wasn't time that aged me, it was stuff.