My life, as I know it, is over.
To be clear, I have always considered my life fun, flirty, fast-paced, filled with competitive races, too much partying and drinking, too little sleep, too many babies to raise, too much work to do with no time set aside to do it and hours spent on hair, makeup, wardrobe, shaving this or that, nails polished, facials and all the other trappings of youth. It’s over, today I’m 70!
Seriously, people are supposed to say “Oh, no way, you don’t look a day over 30.”. But the responses are some variation of the following: “OMG! You must be devastated.” Or “That’s amazing, you look great FOR YOUR AGE.” Or “Well, you’re not fat.” And one of my personal favorites: “How old were your parents when they died?” Usually, after this uplifting gambit, people say things such as: “Well, be careful,” or, “Can I help you carry that?” or, “Are you sure you should drive in the dark?” Or, another personal favorite: “Make the most out of every day you have left.”
Excuse me? You might get hit by a bus the moment I step away. You should be careful too. I have plans for 2027 including the wedding of my youngest child, Gracie. My mother lived to be a fit 98, filled with vim and vigor until her final days. She would repeatedly tell me, “Some things are worse than death, Carolyn.”
Like what? That is the end of the game, after all. There are no do-overs then. And even though I consider these people who dare to speak to me this way to be complete ignoramuses who were not gifted with a drop of social grace, I do see where they’re coming from. There is a great fear of the final years of life for those who live through it and for their observers, too. Things don’t quite work as they once did. That’s the nasty truth of it. But head’s up, some of us elderly people are pretty mobile, pretty fit, pretty clear thinking and pretty pissed off that we’re being chased by the dragon of doom.
Every elderly person over 60 asks How did this happen to me? How did we get here? We were young and vibrant and alive. Construction workers always whistled at my ass! Now they ask if I can move a little faster so they can back up the cement mixer. People were always interested in me and wanted to know my thoughts. Now they wonder if I like the cottage cheese. Trust me, this is a tough time of being invisible and unimportant and hard of hearing and a general bummer to be around. It’s the way I used to feel when my mother would insist that I go to tea with her and her friends for a couple of hours on a Sunday. Absolute torture!
For women? We are without hormones and without that beautiful smooth youthful skin. Mirrors are our enemies. I think it an affront to have a full-length mirror in the bathroom and tried to have it taken out when my husband, proud as a peacock with his physique, refused and told me to use one of the kids’ bathrooms. Relegated to the kids’ room!
The indecency of the whole aging thing is unbearable. And I won’t even begin to speak of my reaction to a stealthy approach for intimacy. Good God, is he mad? Now is the time for us to have fun, the kids are all gone, but it’s too late. Missed the opportunity. Gone, gone, gone with my hormones. And I hope you love my matching sweat suit that I wear to bed every night, with my hot water bottle clenched to my midsection.
At some point recently, I decided I would try to fight it hard. I mean really hard. I pulled out my black leather mini skirt, black tights and black Chanel high boots, with a tight tiger print tank top, perfect hair and makeup and perfume. I put on my best jewelry, flossed, brushed AND gargled before lipstick. I checked myself out and sure, I looked a little bit like Phyllis Diller (look her up), but it sure beats Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies (look her up too while you’re at it, too.)
It was my husband’s birthday in October, and I teetered and tottered on my heels down the stairway and he said, “As always you are late. Let’s get going.” We met our children at a place nearby. Joe got out, and I parked the car. It’s hard parking in that neighborhood after dark, but I’m proud to say I did it all by myself AND I found my way back two blocks in the high heel boots, sashaying all the way to the restaurant. I was HOT! I walked in, and my daughter Kelly said, “Oh, were we supposed to dress up for Halloween?” Humiliation fueled my fury as I said, “I didn’t.” All eyes were now on me, and my oldest son burst out laughing. So did Joe. Gracie, the most sensitive of my children, said, “You look so cute!” Joey just looked at me smiling and biting his tongue. I could storm off or join in with the joke.
Being a lifelong people-pleaser, I joined in. We had a wonderful time, but I did learn a new and painful lesson. Embrace every season of your life with dignity and don’t travel back in time. Don’t give up, though. Never give in to the dragon of doom, and for God’s sake keep running like hell in your scuffies. This is my “elderly season,” and I will embrace it as much as possible.
Think of the benefits. I can tell anyone off for anything without getting fired because I don’t have a job. I can dress comfortably, and no one will notice or object. I can stay home from an event, and any excuse will be acceptable. I can take an afternoon nap, and no one will accuse me of a hangover. And I can kvetch with my fellow elders about this and that and they’ll all nod with deep appreciation. And finally, I can re-read every book and it will be just like the first time. I don’t have to impress anyone anymore about anything.
And when people greet me and inquire about my health, I can say “I’m fabulous. I’m just worried about you.”
There is an alternative to living longer. It’s not a good option. But as you approach 70 and age past it, you start to notice, one by one those you have known, who are taking the other option. The bad one. They are not living any longer. So I guess you should just make the most of it. Its just another chapter in your book. Towards the ending. (Ha)
Boomer talk for ‘I don’t wanna”.
Where are our wise elders who care about young people’s feelings? Where are the wise grandmothers who don’t care about knee high boots and miniskirts? Every chapter of life is hard, death being what you’re preparing for. Grow a pair! The rest of us are waiting for inspiration! Every few weeks there’s a boomer whining in an article. You have Chanel boots?! Get outta here! This generation doesn’t have housing. Pass down your money to your kids so they can get an apartment. Or better yet, YOU downsize so your kids can expand. So out of touch with reality.
Or, have a Father like mine who pointed toward the door an said ” there you go and now it’s up to you”. I was seventeen.
David, I was 18 and it was my mom.
This gave me a lovely chuckle. Keep that great sense of humor and thanks for sharing. Ignore the crabby trolls!
The joke about at least you’re not fat….are you implying that it’s worse to be fat then old? Good lord woman you sound like a classic entitled drunk boomer woman, offended that her kids are grown ups now! This is why adult children are going no contact with their aging parents in droves. Get yourself to a therapist woman! Or some mushrooms at least!!