Not many people know this, but I’m on a weird countdown right now. People who have lost a parent early on will understand this weirdness intimately and completely, but many of you will not — and you will probably think I’m certifiably cray cray. I encourage anyone pointing their index finger at their head in a circular motion to be nice and keep reading, and prepareth thyself for your own weird countdown whenever it happens.

My mom died unexpectedly on December 17, 1992 at the age of 51. I have fond memories of her until that time, and based my parenting on those reflections of her as I raised my own children during the past 24 years. I know what it’s like to be a woman and a mother — until it’s December 17 and I’m 51. After that it’s hazy, or worse, it’s over. This countdown has been ticking since I turned 51 last May. And now I’m in the home stretch month.

This has informed EVERYTHING I’ve achieved or goal-planned for during the past year. I wanted to be retired and happy, to have raised successful adults, to publish a book, to achieve some fame or respect on a small scale, to write pieces people want to read, to have certain things, to be a contributing, loving wife. I have scrambled to make it all so, and it’s actually all come together pretty nicely: my books, Grand Plans: How to Mitigate Geri-Drama, the Grand Planner and nine Lenten challenge books have been published on Amazon; signings and book launches have been planned; I write a column in a monthly newspaper and will be writing for another one soon; my daughter graduates from college in the spring; our son has a stable job that makes him happy; and my husband seems to enjoy my company. Things are happening!

So by these measures, if December 17 comes along and that’s it, I’ve done what I hoped to do in my life — to live a life that aligned with my mom’s standards and was structured by her memory. I know, I know. The chances of my checking out on December 17 are pretty slim. I am healthy. I am careful. I have no concerns about myself physically, mentally or otherwise. I have great support and purpose and I look forward to a long and happy future with my family and friends. But there’s no doubt about one thing: come December 17, I have no intimate maternal imprint of what it’s like to be a mom after 51. This is a fact. And I’m not alone.

In her Huffington Post piece, “The Day I Became Older Than My Mother,” writer Tamsin Eva writes about the weirdness — likening it to the Twilight Zone, something to which I can greatly relate.

“Becoming older than a parent can be a troubling transition. At the most base, mathematical level, it’s hard to comprehend how they can still be your parent if you are older than they ever were. When a parent dies they become frozen in time, forever their age at death. You write it on medical history forms and mutter it in sympathetically awkward conversations. Like a mummified memory, preserved for all to recall as things were, but not what would have been. Your parent has to be older than you. If you become older than they were, it’s as if they are no longer the parent. Almost like a disquieting role reversal where you become the parent of the parent. A Twilight Zone episode never recorded, but perhaps Rod Serling thought of it.”

Amanda Diebert writes about the phenomenon in a beautiful Medium piece. I can TOTALLY relate to this one.

“Life can be a bit heavy on the metaphor. Here’s the thing though: it is very strange to reach the age your parent was when they died. I assume it would be strange no matter what the age. My mom died at 4am on the east coast… I’m hours older than she will ever have been. When I think, “What would mom have done?” there will be times I won’t have an answer.

People who grow up with biological parents tend to say, “The older I get the more I look like my mom/dad.” That’s been true for me. It won’t be true anymore. I’ll look like an older version of her, not a younger one growing into her. When I look at photographs from now on, the older woman in them will be me, not my mother.“

So mission accomplished. I have shared my weirdo timepiece. While I do look forward to seeing everyone and enjoying many more glasses of oaky chardonnay post December 17, I hope you’ll understand why I’ve had a few more in the days leading up to it. Cheers!