I'd spent tens of years telling my girls that their bodies were a means to a long and satisfactory life, not objects to be admired(羡慕)because of how they look. I told them that good health and the energy to enjoy life should be their ultimate(最终的) goals, not fitting into society's preconceived(预想的)ideas of what is beautiful.
This year I'm sixty years old. I appear much older than before. This aging body of mine is not the one I expected to have. Looking at the old, fat, wrinkled woman in the mirror, I begin to complain(抱怨) about it. I've spent a lifetime focusing on my flaws, constantly complaining about my less-than-perfect self. As I was complaining yet again, my younger daughter told me, "Mom, stop. Stop putting yourself down. This is the body you live in now. It's beautiful because it's yours. " If I'm unwilling(不情愿的)to accept my aging self with grace and dignity(自尊), how can I possibly expect my girls to do the same when they face these same physical changes?
And then, I learned that a friend of mine, the same age as me, died. At her funeral, her three heartbroken daughters spoke of their mother's devotion, wisdom, and compassion(同情心). They never said a single word about her appearance though her body had melted away during her last months. It didn't matter. I left that funeral desperate(痛苦的)to hold my own girls in my arms, to kiss them and tell them how much they mean to me,and to promise that I will do better, be better—for them as well as for myself.
And so, to honour the memory of my dear friend and to set a good example to my beloved girls, I promise to love my aging body, and celebrate the gift of being alive.