Their deaths were not unexpected, inasmuch as they had all suffered from various age-related health problems, but for awhile there, it was one after another, a couple of years apart — stepmother, father-in-law, mother-in-law, father, mother.
Dealing with their deaths, I learned a lot of things, like the need to downsize and get rid of stuff before you grow too old to cope with it all; the importance of writing a will; pre-planning, and communicating last wishes. They all had done a good job of it, for which we were grateful.
75 (and not quite over the hill, but winding down)
So here I am at 75, a retiree, a happy mother-in law, and the grandmother of two girls and a boy (other females in the family at last!). Some of life’s knocks have changed me. Some have not. The other day, I ran into a woman I had not seen since she was in my kindergarten class, 35 years ago. She was a lively, intelligent child back then. Now she towered over me as she introduced me to her own three children. She said: “You haven’t changed a bit!” To which, my reaction was a laughing but very ungracious: “You mean I didn’t look any better than this, 35 years ago???”
That’s not, of course, what she meant, nor even what she saw. What she saw was someone she had loved, just as what I saw was someone I had loved – and I certainly had not changed as much as she had. I could have guessed, back then, that she would grow up to be the splendid, accomplished woman she is. As for looking as I did back then, if I can’t have it back, I’ll take the loving version she offered, in a heartbeat.
On my 75th birthday, my eldest, as always, forgot my day altogether. The attentions from friends and the other two boys and all three grandchildren and their mother were plenty enough to keep me from feeling down.
The next day, my firstborn confessed his gaffe to the 5th grade class he teaches, and gave them a writing assignment on “Mr. Sneden forgot his mother’s birthday. What should he do?” He shared some of the best responses with me, wily devil that he is, and we had a good laugh. No doubt next year, he’ll forget my day all over again. At least he’ll have a ready-made writing assignment.
I really am not looking forward to certain aspects of being 75+. Having shepherded my parents through heart problems and joint problems, I am aware of impending limitations. I hate it that I still have to struggle with my weight and my fine hair. I am starting to suffer from the hearing problems common in my family, and my energy level is considerably south of where it used to be. I worry about mind-skips, like walking across the kitchen to fetch something and forgetting what the heck it was before I get there (and it’s not a big kitchen).
I worry that my knees, which were replaced when I was 69, won’t last until I die. The doctor at the time said cheerily: “These new joints are an improvement; we think they might last almost 20 years.” That was the wrong thing to say to a woman whose female ancestors all made it into their late 90’s. The great aunt for whom I am named made it to a hundred. O knees, please hang on!
I worry about politics; I worry about the economy; I worry about angry, intemperate people who will believe every wild story out there; I worry about the hungry children of the world. I worry about the mess of stuff in this house that someone else must get rid of if I don’t get around to it soon. I worry about those grown people I call my children, and about their children, too. Probably the only thing I don’t worry about is dying which, after all, is inevitable. I’d just like to go out without causing too much trouble to those I love.
As I start the next quarter century, there is much for which to be grateful. I can no longer work up a good hate for anyone. I learned a long time ago that hating takes focus and energy, and these days I have neither to spare, as noted above. I have become better at dealing with stress and sorrow. When I feel like weeping, I go off by myself and have a good weep. Or I go outdoors and get busy. There’s not a whole lot of grief that can’t be cured by a good, leaf-kicking walk on a sunny autumn afternoon, or by a grandchild’s enthusiastic hug.
Here’s afterthought: I do not worry about having to update this assessment in 2036. That’s the best news yet.
©2011 Julia Sneden for SeniorWomen.com
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