Old Age

I created this montage of a young Jean dreaming about living to be 100
but the words here are all mom's

 

Dorothy Parker once remarked, "What fresh hell is this?”

 

When I was young I thought I wanted to live to be 100 because, of course, I didn’t want to die.  I assumed I probably would because all the women in my family lived into their upper 90’s.  I have lived a full life with no regrets, had generous parents, had the right education that prepared me for what came after, went everywhere I wanted to go, did everything I ever dreamed of doing, met everyone I wanted to meet and with the help of my husband produced the ideal offspring. Naturally I have suffered enough physical, mental and emotional pain to balance the books but I prefer, on most days, to see only the positive. How could I not be aware of the world and not see I am in the top 1% of the lucky people in the world?
 

That being said, I am now 85. Fifteen years away from 100.
 

Old age is not how I imagined it. I assumed my husband and I would be living in a big house on the lake with a boat moored at our dock and the family coming home for the holidays and vacations. But he died 30 years ago after we lost everything when he had to close the factory. Worst of all he missed knowing his nine grandchildren. A great tragedy. I envy people who grow old together.
 

Financially, I am okay. I own a small house in a nice gated retirement community and I can probably pay my way out of the world without help. But I can’t afford assistance living, don’t go south for the winter, buy a new designer wardrobe at Nordstrom or Saks each season, or redecorate my house every three years. But I can remember what it was like to do so.
 

I don’t feel old so why do my doctors keep telling me I am? I have a noticeable hole in my skull from a subdural hematoma after a very simple fall. I have an aneurism in my head but they won’t operate because I am too old.  How could my skin look old when I have been out of the sun most of my life? How could my bones be crumbling when I can still walk upright? Why am I atrophying? Why do I have bouts of flatulence and incontinence? Why are my nails so crumby? Why can’t I kneel to weed in the garden or to mop the kitchen floor or to get out of the bathtub? Why does my mouth dry up if I walk a half a block up hill?  Why do my fingers freeze when I walk through the dairy section of the grocery store? I know the solutions. I use my umbrella /cane on ice and snow for fear of falling. I do leg exercises at the kitchen sink to improve my balance, I wear mittens with hand warmers inside to grocery store, I use eye drops for my dry eyes and a mouth spray for my dry mouth. I have reading and distance glasses. I use a floor mop. I take a Beano when I remember. I wear rings, nail polish and bracelets so people won’t look at my hands, I wear hats to hide my thinning hair. I wear full makeup to camouflage my skin. I put one leg on the edge of the tub and bend over to cut my nails.  I dye my hair because it is not a nice white. It is plaid.
 

Most of the people I have cared about are gone.  A handful of lifelong women friends are here but it is not easy to see them very often. Almost all the men are gone and I have known some very interesting men who stayed in touch to the end of their lives. I read the obits and too often recognize a name and take a moment to remember.
 

My present life is quite good actually. I am grateful for having a sister about my age, going through similar things. I am grateful I have my eyesight and hearing. I can still drive a car. I wake up in the morning, put my chocolate soy milk, ice and liver tonic in my Vitamix, get the paper, read it from cover to cover, and do the crossword puzzles.  I have creative hobbies like painting and making jewelry,  I attend classes in music and Shakespeare,  watch TV, play music on my Bose, surf the internet, watch Netflix movies, cook creatively, often with dreadful results, and read. And remember. I can remember and visualize almost my whole life and relive it. I use to imagine what big thing do I want to do next and go do it. A very romantic way to live. I don’t want to find a husband. Growing old with a man is one thing but meeting one when we both have physical problems doesn’t appeal. Living to be 100 no longer has the appeal it once did either. Old age is not a stage you grow out of. This, or worse, is it.
 

 

-Jean Clarice Walsh