This week, the family celebrated a milestone. My mother turned 70 a few days ago, celebrating with burgers involving the whole family. When it comes to milestone birthdays, a lot of families rent out venues or go out to fancy restaurants. That’s just not our style, though. It might have something to do with dealing with crowds and not wanting to indulge obnoxious people, but it’s better to just party with loved ones.

The event got me thinking about the passage of time and all the milestone birthdays on the horizon. I’m going to be turning 50 at the end of November, something I didn’t think I would see. It’s not that I was besieged by disease or facing a death sentence. It was simply because I’ve focused on the here and now and not spent a lot of energy thinking about a time when I might be old.

There are signs that I’m no longer a spring chicken. One of them is the gray hairs started to spread over my head. In recent years, the grays have started to conduct a hostile takeover near my ears. I got another alert that my youth had checked out ahead of my timetable at my last eye exam when the optometrist told me I had to get bifocals.

I know I’m feeling like I’m moving a little slower these days. At one time, I enjoyed running from a vehicle to building and vice versa, having a mindset that I wanted to get as much done as possible during my day. As I’m approaching my 50^th year of existence, just the idea of running makes my feet hurt.

Of course, I still consider myself the junior partner in my relationship with my sweetheart. Todd is almost 18 months older than I, and I made sure to provide some ribbing when he turned 50 last June. The birthday cake was a cemetery scene with a headstone for Todd and the words “Still Alive.” I considered some black balloons and other symbols of the loss of youth, but I think I’ll save it for when he turns 60.

Besides, Todd is already licking his chops about what to do when I turn the big five-oh. He’s plotting the design of my cake and vowing to make it even more funeral like than the one I got for him. I can only wonder what else he’s planning, like replacing the bed with a sarcophagus, attaching a white cane to my Jeep and fast-tracking an application for me to join AARP.

You know, that last one might not be such a bad idea, considering how prices on everything at skyrocketing. If I could get some discounts based on approaching the age of fogey, I’d be okay with that. However, even with those discounts and being eligible in a few years for the early bird specials, I have to wonder if I’m ready to get old in America today.

I sometimes worry about my mother aging, especially since she lives alone—unless you count multiple Australian Shepherds, goats and one obnoxious declawed cat. She’s deeper in the country than I am, living in a house on a piece of property where the nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away. She’s very active, even at her age, but she’s slowed down, too.

I think I mainly worry because my mother shocked everyone when she had a heart attack 11 years ago. After decades of putting up this front of always being healthy and seemingly invincible, she went from being strong to being in a hospital. It was something I never thought I would see. My expectation was that she was going to live forever—or at least 100—and then just exit one quiet night in her sleep.

I’ve found myself more preoccupied with aging. I feel lucky to still have my mother when friends around my age have lost theirs. I also think more about my own health and Todd. While the thought that we both might exit at around the same time might seem ideal, I wonder how I’ll be able to go on if he books his trip to heaven first. I also worry how he’ll cope if I’m the one with the earlier expiration date.

With the thought of the mortal coil becoming more prevalent, it’s important to enjoy the time we have left, which makes birthdays essential. Whether it’s with burgers on the grill or cakes with messages of death, I feel we should mark each milestone since we have no idea if it will be our last.