“What’s it like to be 90?” someone asked me. Well, it’s much the same as being 20 or 40 or 60 or whatever—you don’t feel much different than you did the day before, or a decade or two before, to be honest. By the time you are 20 you have become the person you will remain the rest of your life: generous or stingy; encouraging or critical; happy or miserable. So, in many ways I don’t feel any differently than I have for years. But of course, that’s on the inside and the inside has everything to do with how I feel to be 90.
But the “outside” of me, now that’s a different picture entirely and has nothing to do with being 90 and everything to do with being old. It always shocks me and maybe even annoys me a bit when someone, scanning an old photo of me, asks, who is this? Surely I haven’t changed that much? Well, maybe. The picture shows a dark – haired young woman, about 35, eyes looking confidently straight into the camera. Her face is smooth as silk and her body is trim. She looks capable of running a country mile.
While the “inside” me is still with me, the “outside” me, sadly and slowly, started to leave many years ago. So now here I am with not a black hair on my head but with ever – thinning white fluff, and instead of running a country mile I think it’s a good day when I can climb the stairs more or less comfortably despite my once – broken, hurting hip and my creaky knees. My nimble fingers are now stiff and knobbed with arthritis, but I make them keep typing, typing, typing just to keep them limber.
But then there are the memories, and although I probably can’t remember what I had for supper last night, I catch myself singing under my breath all the words to an old song I haven’t heard for 50 or 60 years and the memories wash over me.
I remember my husband – to – be coming home from the navy with ruined lungs and being settled into a sanatorium to die, but he had no intention of dying, and instead became well and healthy for the rest of his long life (he died at 82). I remember one New Year’s Eve being so giddy and foolish we decided to elope with less than $25 between us. I remember the hard times that followed but being lucky enough to find a small two – room flat in Toronto where we shared the bathroom with the owners, and an icebox that had to be replenished with ice twice a week. And then I remember our dear little children, so sweet and innocent and we being so inexperienced and feeling very inept at parenting.I remember how hard my husband worked, the long, long hours just “to make a go.” And I remember he was so tired one Sunday he couldn’t take the boys fishing so I did, and that was a day I will always remember.
One good thing about old age is that it has brought me nearer to God. Bible study and prayer are looked forward to with anticipation and to miss that time is to greatly lessen the pleasure and guidance for the day. I actually do feel His loving, strengthening presence much more than I used to, which may also come with age as we near the end.
Old age can be a lonely time, especially if you happen to be the “long liver” of your group. In the past 10 years I have said goodbye to my husband, sister, two brothers and five of my very best longtime friends. I gave the eulogy at four of their funerals and it was hard but that’s what friends do. There’s now no one who has known me long enough to really know me. No one to understand my meaning without me having to explain, who lights up at my humour and stories. Sometimes, I have a loneliness attack. But then, I tell myself that if loneliness is the worst thing I have to bear in my old age, I should count myself blessed indeed.
Life is still good and interesting, but I shudder to hear scientists predicting that in only a few short years, living 120 years will be the norm. And I ask, “To what purpose?” To keep the younger generation poor with the taxes it will take to keep the elderly? And while scientists will hopefully unlock the secrets as to what causes dementia, will they also find the knowledge to restore the physical body? If not, what’s the sense of it all?
To be 90 is good. To be old, well, enough said.
