This is one of my fundamental problems with bodily resurrection (or even some kind of spiritual resurrection where you still look like yourself): what do you look like when you’re bodily resurrected or spiritually residing in heaven?
I only knew my grandmother when she was my grandmother: short, white hair, friendly hugs, matriarch…but when I attended her funeral, there was displayed (among other photos) her wedding photo: young, sexy, stunningly good looking, in her prime. When she got to heaven, which “her” got there?
There is a kind of camaraderie that is borne of the indignities of modern air travel and I have never been shy about sharing with strangers. As I helpfully pointed out some goodies at the restaurant in Tokyo (and steered the unsuspecting Americans away from umeboshi, to the extreme amusement of the Japanese woman in front of us), I realized that I’ve become “the lady” instead of “the young lady”. In high school, the bemused businessmen would say, “The young lady recommends…” but now, I’m just “the lady”.
This has been on my mind lately, because, although I notice that my flab is more evident than it was in college, I don’t feel like I look any different—no older, no wiser, no greyer…in my mind’s eye, I haven’t changed. For some reason, the bemused businessmen (and the young au pair) made me realize I’m older. But not in my mind.