Dealing with Denial

Maybe writing on my blog will help me come to grips with it. Maybe actually putting down the words on a screen, punching the "publish" button and then allowing the world to know this sad fact of my life will erase away the apparent subconscious denial I've been experiencing this past week.

I say "apparent subconscious" because I don't really think about it that much, but I also haven't been able to bring myself to act upon this fact of life which is staring me point-blank in the face.

Just like everybody talks about the potential bad luck every time another Friday, the 13th, rolls around, I seem to be dealing with this number as if it bodes for me a depressing signal that life is surely on the downturn.

It all started last Friday night at Second Avenue Pizza when Bill and I saw another couple, still pinching themselves with the joy of their first year of retirement. I know that feeling, and I'm still pinching after almost seven years. Bill doesn't know that feeling, but he sure is thinking about how nice it might be to start his own pinching routine.

In our discussions, he noted that he intends to go to a PERSI workshop (that's the public retirement system for Idaho) and see what his options are. He also happened to mention that anyone about to turn 62 should be notifying PERSI and the Social Security Administration within three months of their birthday.

Gosh, I wonder who that would be. Ouch, that hurt!

I really grimaced a couple of days later when I mentioned to my younger (by 14 years) sister Laurie (same one who told me it was "time" to start zapping my gray hair about 10 years ago) that I was going to have to start looking into Social Security.

"You're gonna be 62!" she remarked, as if I had just told her I had eaten worms for lunch.

Geez, I didn't know if she meant it as a compliment or if she meant the same thing I've been thinking---that life could be headed for a downturn.

I didn't want to ask.

Anyway, every once in a while this week, the thought has popped back into my head (uninvited) reminding me that time is a-wastin' . Well, this is Groundhog Month, and I do have six more weeks to think about it because the magic three-months before 62 date doesn't come up until late March.

But, like all ugly things we have to do---such as cleaning the refrigerator, tax preparation or meeting story deadlines---it's beginning to gnaw at me.

Most people are somewhat thrilled to turn 62; they put the "old" part out of their mind because they know they've got money coming. In my case, I had a choice when I retired at 55 to opt for money that would match a Social Security payment until I turned the magic age. I took it.

So, soon I'll have to contact PERSI; they'll probably give me a whole lot less money, and since I haven't been paying into Social Security since I was 55, I won't be getting nearly as much from them as forms earlier indicated.

So, I'm not only getting OLDer but also poorer.

I went into this situation with my eyes wide open nearly seven years ago, and I think I have no regrets. We paid off the mortgage. That's a big plus for having the extra cash in my monthly paycheck.

I also started saving for the first time in my life, and I've been told that it's probably just as good to save as it would have been to go get a job so I could pay more into Social Security.

I think the reason I dread the thought of making the telephone calls is that it means a whole bunch more red tape----filling out forms, looking for stuff I stuffed away in a safe place seven years ago, sitting and waiting for the next available clerk on the phone to answer my questions. I think I hate that more than anything.

But I'll have to do it. And, while I'm doing that, my husband will be weighing all of his options, deciding whether retirement is going to be worth not going to work every day.

We, like so many others, worry about medical insurance---where we're going to get it, how many of our arms and legs will have to be donated to science to pay for it.

I do have six weeks before making those calls that lead to a whole new inning in the ball game of life. If I were smart, I'd step up to the plate and get on the phone today, but I think I'll probably spend a little more time in batting practice, thinking about it all.

Denial is an option. I'd rather enjoy a few more weeks, pretending I'm forever young.

Ha!