seven years

it's an old wives tale that every seven years all of your body's cells are replaced. this isn't exactly true, because certain cells are never replaced. how many times have i been warned that what i'm doing is destroying my brain? at times like this, though, i think, what if my body was totally new in seven years?

seven years from now i'll be nearly 32 years old. seven years from now i'd planned to be living in either chicago or new york, most likely with an official domestic partner (-medler? medler-?), and most likely seriously considering an adoption. as much as i joked about having "baby fever" and wanting to adopt a chinese baby, there was some truth at the heart of it. now i'm faced with putting those dreams to bed and with the realization that my new body, the one i'll have finished growing in seven years, won't be where i'd hoped it would be.

if my cells were new in seven years, if my skin was completely new, would i have forgotten what terry's touch felt like? would my headful of new gray hairs still remind me of that first one that came in that i stubbornly refused to pull out, pushing back the frightening thought that as terry watched me age he would be less attracted to me, or will my new cells drown out the memory?

the cells that are never replaced, i'm afraid, are the ones that are really in control. the rest of me may change and grow and be made new, but the most important ones will always be the ones that i had when i was with him.