Invisible

I realized something a little startling the other day. Sixty plus year old women are invisible. I am invisible. To whom you may ask? To everyone is my reply. I am invisible to the people shopping in the grocery store. I am invisible to the people in line at the bank. I am invisible to the few friends that I have. I am invisible to my children. I am invisible to my husband. No one sees an older woman.  It’s not in the fabric of our society today. I go about my business with the efficiency I have always had. I get things done. I make a list. I shop for food. I cook meals. I do laundry. I pay the bills on time. I grab a coffee. I keep it all running smoothly, all the while being invisible. It’s just what happens, I guess. I still think of myself as a witty, fun 30 year old. Then I pass a mirror or see my reflection in a window and am startled that an older woman is staring back at me. I hardly know her. She dresses mostly in black these days, probably to hide her diminishing figure and her thickening middle. When did that happen? Is that when I became invisible? I see a woman who seems to add wrinkles to her face on a daily basis. When did that happen? Is that when I became invisible? I see a woman who has more time on her hands and less to do. When did that happen? Is that when I became invisible? I see that look of polite indifference on people’s faces when I start to tell a story or offer advice. When did that happen?  Is that when I became invisible? I am at the point in my life where I am buying more sympathy cards than birthday cards. When did that happen? Is that when I became invisible? It’s like I am a drawing on a piece of paper and someone has started using the eraser at the bottom of my picture moving upward, and slowly but surely, I have been disappearing for some time. The eraser will finally reach my head and then my thoughts, dreams and memories will be erased along with me. Maybe that is actually a good thing. Then I won’t remember that I am invisible.

Biggsuzi