On Getting Old

There are ups and downs to aging. The first up is that you are still alive.

The second up is perhaps better than the first: you no longer care about what anyone thinks.

My husband Rick died young, as I see it now. He was 68. People die at 68 all the time, but I certainly was not ready to see him go.

I used to read about people dying in their 60s or 70s, and I was not surprised. I don’t think that way anymore. I think, geez, I’m older than that person, and I’m still putting along. They were robbed of some good years. It seems unfair now when people don’t get a chance to be old.

Another part of being old for me is thinking of people I used to know years ago. I used to wonder where they were and what they were up to. Now I think about someone, and after a few minutes I think, they might be, or they probably are, dead. Takes a lot of the sparkle out of looking for old friends.

It’s okay, mostly. There are not many people to whom I want to say anything. Probably not any. I feel comfortable thinking, “I have outlived all my mistakes, even the worst ones.” If someone from the distant past showed up and complained about something I said or did, I would, if possible, make amends, but in some cases, with some people, I think we all know that there is no fixing whatever happened, because we mixed like oil and water. On fire.

We must let it go.

Of course, one of the downsides of getting old is that you feel every injury you ever had – every broken bone, every hard hit, every disease that decreased your lung capacity, every surgery, every bout of cancer you supposedly “won,” but you still carry the scars and effects of chemo or radiation. Everything that has ever happened to you. There is a book titled, “The Body Keeps the Score.” That book is about trauma, but the body really does keep score of everything that has happened to you, physically or emotionally. In old age the old injuries re-surface as chronic conditions, and I’m sorry to say that some of them involve intense physical pain. The cartilage in my knees is only a memory. My hands bear the arthritis of sixty years of playing guitar, probably most of the time holding the instrument wrong. If you have compounded the mischief by smoking or drinking or doing drugs, or in my case being obese, the oppressions of old age can be heavy. Rick had emphysema/COPD, probably from smoking for 55 years. Just a guess.

Eating weird diets can do you in, too. I dieted to lose weight many times, and I may again, but I know there are risks involved. That’s why you are always told to talk to your doctor before starting a diet. I don’t know if anyone does that, but we are told to do it. Dieting has finished off many a gallbladder, but they don’t warn you about that at dieting groups, at least none of the ones I joined.

“You are guaranteed to lose weight! And maybe an internal organ!” See, that would be a terrible sales pitch.

Then there is osteoporosis, arthritis in general, weakening muscles from disuse, gum disease, cataracts, hearing, and vision loss, and of course the real Boogey Man: dementia. Most of us have moments of not being able to remember a name, or a word. That’s common, and it is also an early symptom of Alzheimer’s disease, which not everyone will develop, but a lot of us are worried about. There are other varieties of dementia – whee! – and we all know that sooner or later our bodies will fall to being worn out and used up.

Some of us will see the end and use assisted suicide to avoid suffering and placing financial burdens on our families, but mostly to avoid suffering. I hear it is peaceful.

Some of us will unexpectedly go out in a blink. I envy those people.

Some will linger long, and fight their leaving the party, because they don’t want to miss anything.

Some will inspire us with their spiritual light and courage, although I have found that courage is something you discover in yourself when circumstances arise, and you do what needs to be done.

Anyway, getting older. There are ups and downs. Most of the downs are physical, but if you still have friends and a sense of humor, that makes up for a lot of physical pain. If you play an instrument and sing, bonus! Time ceases to enslave you when you sing or play an instrument. Or play with your model trains. Or quilt. Or write poems. Or do any of the things that bring you bliss and a moment out of time.

We’re all going to the same end, but some of us are having more fun along the way than others. I think it’s at least partially a choice, and luck. At this point I feel lucky. I’m still here and the house is paid off.