A Walk down Memory Lane

walking in my place of birth.

As another year around the sun turns to my 80th year, I’m in a reflective mood. Such a long life I’ve had; and yet, each day feels new. Calculating 79 years is simple, yet experiencing the duration eludes me. I sometimes recall my past life from seventy, sixty, and prior years ago.

Seventy years ago, at 9 years old, I remember knitting my first winter sweater, a deep rose pink, a color that still looks good against my skin. My mother made a few white collar bibs so I could wear them under it and keep the neckline from getting dirty. Washing and drying a wool sweater was an ordeal in cold, wet Holland and was to be minimized. This was my first big knitting project after learning to knit at age five and knitting doll clothes for several years. I wore the sweater proudly. I thank my mother for not only teaching me the skill but making me practice daily with 10 rows of knitting. “Developing skills takes practice”, she said; and she was right.

Sixty years ago, at 19 years old, I was a student who’d dropped out of university in Holland after the first semester debacle. Practical as my father was, he told me to take a secretarial course and find a part-time job until I re-enrolled in school next term. I learned to blind type and got a job with an agency that sent helpers to overwhelmed families. The agency placed me as housekeeping help with a large family. I learned quickly that being a university student was much more interesting. The lesson? Humble work is a motivator for reaching further in life. I became a travel hostess that summer and went back to school the next semester, but traveling abroad had me in its grip for the next ten years.

Fifty years ago, at 29 years old, I was in the end stage of my first pregnancy and living in a new country, America. My son was born on his due date, a week later. In line with Dutch custom, I chose a home birth with a lay midwife. On my birthday, I was in “nesting” mode and cleaning and scrubbing our country rental home. The garden, planted with peas and greens, showed the first springtime sprouts. New life enhanced my spring birthday. I’ve been fond of spring ever since. I stepped through an enormous door that year, becoming a mother and have never regretted it. My son will turn 50 this year! He has been a great comfort even though, at times, he was a challenge to raise. Becoming a mother made me dig deep as a parent and discover a strong and binding love.

Forty years ago, at 39 years old, I was a mother of three, in a second marriage, unemployed, and one year in our new location in Southern Oregon, my memories are a blur of dying Easter eggs, getting up early and hiding them in our backyard, friends with kids visiting. I don’t even know if we celebrated my birthday. In the middle of a whirl of children running around finding eggs, I turn and see my youngest daughter in her lilac bib overalls stand up and take her first steps with outstretched hands toward me on the back deck. Remembering that moment still brings tears of joy to my eyes. The lesson? Every step in life is a miracle.

Thirty years ago, at 49 years old, I had completed another bachelor’s and master’s degree, this time in counseling psychology, 2 years prior. That period brought hardship. My husband was still recovering from a near-death motorcycle accident, and I encountered my most challenging suicidal client in my private counseling practice. When my youngest daughter told me that my being on call bothered her, I decided that my family was more important than my career and I started the search for a job in mental health with clearcut hours and time off when I wasn’t at work. Separating work and family was the start of the repair of family relations.

Twenty years ago, at 59 years old, I celebrated my birthday with active women with whom I hiked, skied, rowed crew, and meditated. My husband’s physical and mental decline meant the end of our marriage. A powerful group of women surrounded me, nurturing me during this difficult time. I learned that when one door closes, another one opens.

Ten years ago, at 69 years old, I had just received the ultrasound picture of my newest grandson, my fourth grandchild. Another miracle. My husband had passed 6 years prior. I was retired and rebuilding my life as a single woman. I celebrated my birthday with friends while preparing for yet another long-distance hike on the Pacific Crest Trail, Washington state.The power of hiking as a meditation had me in its grip.

And this year? A 9.5 mile hike in wild New Mexico shows me I haven’t lost my hiking ability. A No-Kings rally in my little town and around the world tells me the political nightmare we’re in won’t last. And on my day, I am celebrating with the launch of my newest book, “Body and Grace, a Woman’s Hike to Wholeness on the Pacific Crest Trail”; a trail I completed at age 75. While hiking 2650 miles in wild and beautiful country, I learned that the body can do much more than our minds let us believe, and that grace is a benevolent force available if we open up to it. Join me at the celebration launch if you’re in Taos, or buy the book at regular outlets.

My walk down memory lane doesn’t give the full picture of my life. But it shows me that I have much to be thankful for; that life consists of miracles and dark times. Supportive and caring family and friends, spiritual teachers, and privileged circumstances have blessed my life. I hope that my health and mental faculties will go with me in the years to come. May there be another 10 years.

You can order Body and Grace here . A Zoom launch of Body and Grace with a slideshow of the Pacific Crest Trail will take place on April 24, 2026. For details, contact me at dami.roelse@gmail.com