This last weekend, my oldest son, who is a mere 31 years of age, told me I was getting gray. "Yes," I said, and didn't think much of it at the time. I don't have much - more growing in around the temples, and a patch just above my forehead on the left side, almost like a streak, but I know more is coming. I've never worried about my age or wished I was younger. The past three years however, have aged me quite a bit - in ways I would have never guessed. I hurt all over. My hands, feet and shoulders being the worst. Sometimes I feel like my arms are not quite connected to my body. My face definitely looks older, ravaged by sadness and grief. But, all in all, I know growing old was inevitable and, quite frankly, it doesn't bother me. There hasn't been a time in my life when I felt this comfortable in my own skin, and yet I wonder if it's because I don't really care much about anything anymore. Maybe it's just a symptom of my apathy at life in general. I do know the only things keeping me going are my husband and son. Without them, I would not be here today.