I read a poem today. Life is a Struggle by Louis Nelson and it begins: “Life is a struggle in the jungle, if you don’t believe me, ask your Uncle.” And it hit me. I don’t have any uncles anymore. At one time I had 10 uncles. Some funny, some serious, some affectionate, some stern but they were always there lined up against the wall or gathered under the tree at family suppers or picnics. 10 uncles who would call out to me and my cousins to, “Behave.” or “Get down.” or “Hurry up.” or some other terse uncle kind of command. They are all dead now.
There is something very sobering about realizing that I am now the older generation. Yes, I have three aunts still living, but two are in their mid-90s and one is 101. Even I accept they will not live forever. I shouldn’t be surprised to know I am an elder. When I announced I was leaving my job everyone assumed I must be retiring. After all, why would some one as old as me want to keep working? Yesterday, I went to see an allergist. I started having allergies, well I thought they were allergies, a few years ago. I would glibly say I was allergic to being in my 60’s. Turns out I was right. The allergist found that I was allergic to nothing. Then he gently told me it is common for people in their elder years to develop a runny nose. He gave it a fancy name and prescribed a nasal spray but the bottom line is – I am allergic to being old.
Like many others, the inactivity that came about with the pandemic resulted in a weight gain. I have been trying to shed those extra pounds. What do I read? It is harder to lose weight when you are older. As you age, your metabolism slows down, your body softens, your weight settles in different places. ARGHHH – yes, I can see that every time I stand in front of the mirror and my jowls quiver and my breasts sag and my belly pooches out. Let’s not even talk about the hairs that sprout on my chin.
I miss my uncles. And my aunts. And my parents and grandparents. I wonder if they were as startled about being older, and having the family responsibilities that they had, as I am? I wonder if they stood in front of the mirror astonished that they bore the signs of long life? Of course, better to bear those signs of age than the alternative. We always say that. I am not bemoaning that I am older. I am just surprised it has come so quickly.
If time flies when you’re having fun, well then, what’s there to complain about? This is going to be fun, wasn’t it.
With the passing of both of my parents in the last year, I suddenly have LOTS of photos that need sorting. As I sift through photos of wonderful old family gatherings and celebrations, I see my small family reflected in them, and I feel the very same feelings. That generation is gone. I am now it. Yes, my nose runs (soup and Kleenex now go hand in hand), I simply cannot fit into my preferred pant size no matter what I do and everything has sagged to a new location. BUT, to be honest, I don’t try very hard to lose that weight and tone that body. At the end of every day I celebrate that I am alive – I have a small bowl of faux ice cream for dessert and a teensy little bowl of Cheesies or corn chips in the evening. I may even throw in a glass of Irish Whiskey. Why wouldn’t I? I may not have as much life ahead of me as behind me, but I intend to make it as enjoyable as I can right to the end. THAT is what those who went before me taught me.
Aging is the most unwelcomed fact of life but the trick is to learn how to accept it gracefully and use it to our advantage. At one time the government issued Senior cards upon reaching 65 – too many of us now to make that feasible. I constantly need to remind myself of my age, as spry as I am. What keeps me going with a sense of humour and humility is the memory of my father, age 97, in a retirement home using a walker and asking me if “he walked as bent over as ‘that old man’ across the hallmark”. He never felt old, never thought old and died as a young man in his mind – which was still ever so sharp. To me this is aging at its best.