Driving home the other day I passed the nearby retirement and long term care home. Half a block further on an elderly man, possibly in his 80s, was walking carefully home, head bent as he avoided pavement cracks and debris that could trip him up. His face looked pained but determined, and he shuffled with a stiff legged sway. He was alone, and I wondered if he lived that way too. I was suddenly struck with a foreboding, a fear so gripping that I felt my breath catch. For the first time I felt my own old age laying its hand on my shoulder, and I was afraid. I had never felt that way before, and I paused longer than usual at the stop sign, watching the man recede in my rear view mirror.
Perhaps it's the death of James' father a month ago; or the memory of my own parents' passing; or the dozen aches and pains that have become chronic reminders of my 57 years, but old age does not seem that far away any more. And I don't like it, not one bit. I know I am supposed to embrace my inner crone, go gracefully toward the sunset, enjoy the respect and admiration of the younger generation. But I don't like feeling tired more often than not, or that I have to exercise to keep my metabolism up to speed, or that my shoe size keeps changing as my feet spread. I worry that I won't have enough money for retirement, which I will have to put off as long as possible. I feel like I haven't accomplished enough, haven't realized my dreams, and time is running out. I wonder if I will live into my 90s like my grandparents, or barely make my 70s like my parents.
If I have to live old and alone, what will my days be like? Will I putter around my rooms, rearranging shelves, watching Jeopardy every evening at 7, waiting for calls from my son? Will I shuffle down the sidewalk nursing a hip replacement, trying to remember if I've taken my medication that morning? What will I regret not having done?
Until the other day, those concerns seemed far off, and perhaps they are. For the past eight months I have been in temporary retirement, not having regular income, but with a wealth of time on my hands. Without the distraction and regular activity of a daily job I notice the aches and pains more, the gray hair sprouting around my crown seems more pronounced, my obsessions are more acute. I am more careful about spending money and dine out less often. I have had a little taste of the future and I know what I want for it.
When I am old I will be active and vital, despite my aches and pains. I will focus more on others and less on myself. I will serve my community and connect with friends and family. I will enjoy my quietude, meditate and spend time with the person I like best, myself. If I am alone, I will not be lonely. I will count my blessings and offer gratitude every day. If I have regrets, I will forgive them and be humble. I will let myself feel sad, afraid, angry, lonely, depressed, but only for a little while. I will have a dog to take on walks, and will watch racy movies instead of Jeopardy. I will paint pictures and visit places I have not seen. I will live much like I do today, only slowly and with more care and mindfulness. I am getting older, yes, but age is a state of mind and heart and spirit.
I hope I see that old man again sometime when I am walking in the neighborhood. I want to nod and smile and greet him the same way that I will greet old age, with love and grace and openness.
No comments:
Post a Comment