Old age looks like this.
It also looks like this-
And often like this-
Something I increasingly find my mind occupied with is old age. Maybe it has to do with being truly at mid-life; looking back, peering forward. Maybe it has to do with being born in the summer; feeling the 45th year, come to an end.
45 is a good place to be, especially if you’ve done all you set out to do, have health, love, and humour. When I was young, younger- I couldn’t envision the 40s. A woman in her 40s was unfathomable to the woman I was in my 20s- the 40s felt so old, and conveniently, faraway.
If the 40s is Act 2, I am in the last scene, just about to exit, downstage, left. So increasingly, I keep trying to imagine Act 3- where will I be, what do I do next.
Because in the final act, I won’t have youth anymore, nor the luxury of time. I don’t want to arrive at Act 3 unprepared. My grandmother’s life, and her passing, profoundly affected me. I want to grow old like my grandmother- with so much dignity. In the final days when her mind fully receded, ensconced in her own home, she lived in the care of those whom she loved most, and who fiercely loved her back.
Old age can also look like this-
For “here we are trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why.”- Kurt Vonnegut