Nobody Told Me...

Nobody told me about being old.  Or maybe they did, and I wasn't listening. Why? Because being old was just not a part of my personal hopes and dreams.  I fantasized a lot about being a wife, about being a mom, about having a career, about owning my dream home, even about retiring.  But I didn't fantasize about being old...elderly...senior...over-the-hill...geriatric...long-in-the-tooth...etc. etc. etc.

Being old, however, has completely changed my psyche, and I have daily thoughts about it, most of which I don't talk about, except maybe with other old people, and not many of them.  And some thoughts I don't give voice to because they're just not good conversation material.  People simply don't want to hear it. And I wonder if maybe other old people share those thoughts or agree with what I have observed about being old. Here are a few of my observations, from my personal standpoint:

• ·      I don't think of myself as "old."  Even though the number of years I have lived would place me in that category, I'm just not psychologically there yet. When I see pictures of myself with sagging jowls and turkey neck, I'm shocked! That can't be me. When my Ring camera shows a shuffling old lady with a curved spine going out for the mail, I'm incredulous! When the comments of strangers obviously place me in that category, I'm offended at first, before it dawns on me that my hair is white, my shoulders are stooped, and my cheeks looks like wadded up paper bags. When just last week my great granddaughter, fascinated at the hanging flesh on my upper arm, touched it gently to see if it was real, honestly, I thought it was funny as hell, but a part of me was in denial.

• ·      I think a lot about dying.  The reality of it. These are the secret thoughts I don't talk about.  I look at my young grandson and my great grandchildren and wonder if they will remember me...likely not.  I regret that I will not get to see them grow up. I wonder if I will be able to celebrate all my older grandchildren's weddings and their own children's births. I run across photos of my own parents in their last years, and I wonder how many more birthdays, Christmases, graduations, weddings, and anniversaries we will celebrate -  because it has finally dawned on me that those celebrations will continue to take place without  me. And it makes me sad because I don't want to miss all those things, but conversely, I don't want to get so old and sick that I am a burden on those people I love so much. The prospect of dying colors so many of my thoughts and plans, I wonder if I need therapy, or if it's normal.

• ·      On the same note, thinking of the limited time I have left to spend with each of my loved ones individually, I sometimes resent that they don't focus on that, too. Why do they not drop by just for a cup of coffee and conversation? Why is a party at a friend's house more important than watching a movie together? I look back... my parents probably had the same thoughts.  One of the things my stepdad always said, when I got up to leave, was "What's your hurry?" I was so wrapped up in my career, friends, kids, chores, meetings, and so much more, and there were only 24 hours in a day!  It wasn't until after they were gone that I wished that I had spent more time with them. And then, in a more rational frame of mind, I remind myself that, just as I do, my kids and grandkids have their own lives to live. I am not in control, nor do I want to be.  When they left my home, I wanted them to establish their own autonomy.

• ·      I worry about running out of money. I never worried about that when I was young and working and raising a family. But like most people, I'm not wealthy; my reserves are limited, and there's no way to know what demands will be placed on them. I'm limited in my capacity to earn more money. I scold myself for making bad financial choices, or choices that in my opinion, are justified, but considered foolish by others.

• ·      The deteriorating body just pisses me off!  I'm mad that I can't climb a ladder and carry heavy boxes, that I wake up to a new pain in a new place every day, that my bodily functions that I once took for granted are now a giving me fits, that I wonder if a virus or an accident that I once considered a bump in the road could be the source of my demise. COVID was a wake-up call. Today, though I do care about my appearance, I'm far more concerned about my health than my looks.

I tend to focus on the negatives, but advanced years have also opened my eyes to a lot of truths that I wish I had known in my younger years. But of course I didn't, because for the most part wisdom is accumulated with time and experience, and thus I've grown wiser in a lot of ways:

• ·      If I feel compelled to do so, I say what's on my mind. I don't have a boss to worry about firing me. There are some people I am not averse to offending. I'm not a social climber. On the other hand, I no longer want to talk about things that are not important to me.  I grow impatient with conversations about things that I consider to be trivial and usually disengage when I become bored. I don't want to talk endlessly about my declining everyday health concerns, and I don't want to endlessly hear about yours.  (But I DO want to know about the big stuff because I DO care.) If I'm passionate about a topic, I have to remind myself that not everybody else is interested, and that my "wisdom" is not always appreciated.  I don't want to be indulged while also being dismissed. I wish we lived in a society that valued the accumulated knowledge and  experiences of the elderly, but we don't, so I have to bite my tongue when I am waxing eloquent, and people's eyes start to glaze over.

• ·      I have learned to appreciate home.  I once wanted to see the world, but the last ten years or so, when I have travelled, I couldn't wait to get home and the comfort of all the things that surround me there.  I have also learned the value of solitude, and the need to escape the tasks and distractions that once consumed me and just spend some time alone. I like to read, watch TV, do a puzzle, doze, create an artful object, or even write my thoughts down on paper, while others have their own preferences. I've also learned what activities are worth my time and which are a waste of my time, and since my time is limited, my priorities have changed. I carefully scrutinize my hours of doing things or going places just because I feel "I should."  

• ·      Conversely, I have finally figured out that the most important element of life here on earth is not money, not fame, not career, not beauty...but life-affirming relationships with other human beings, not only family, but people with whom I feel connected.  I pursue those relationships, I bask in them, and I value them far above a shopping trip or the Amazon boxes that give me a temporary high. On the other hand, if I perceive a friendship isn't worth my time, or is draining me emotionally, I'm done. I don't have time to try to water a persnickety plant that requires persistent handling with care. Let it die.

• ·      I've heard others say they're not worried about growing old because they are getting closer to their eternal reward. Well, to be honest, though my spiritual convictions run deep and very personal, maybe a little different than traditional, so far I just don't want to leave all this behind. My "now" is inevitably shaded by the proximity of what will be. And I want to be at peace with it all. Chandler and I were talking about the fact that we both believe our degenerating bodies are God's way of getting us to admit to ourselves that it's time to go. I debate with myself about that. I grieved my mother for years before she died because her health went so downhill over so much time

  

  that she gave up the fight, went on hospice, and welcomed an end to it all. Her death was expected and a relief for everyone that her suffering was over. My grief for my stepdad was acute and unexpected because he was here one minute and gone the next. What would I wish on my family?  I think I know which exit  I would prefer.

These days I  ask myself and the universe, every time I hear of someone younger dying (which happens more and more frequently now as my years accumulate), why them? Why have I outlived them? Especially those who had a full life ahead of them. But I am also thankful. I am truly grateful for the years I have been granted.  Who knows? I may be around another 20 years.  But do I want to be??  So far I do. I just don't want to miss anything. But ultimately time will tell.