Advice|Life Lessons|Growing Old
How To Grow Very Old and Still Win at Life
We could all learn something about living happily from the elderly.
I know how frailty makes every effort precarious.
My mother leans on my arm when we go out and says: Don’t let me fall over. I say, Well if you fall, I fall. And we both laugh at being old.
My mother is ninety-six. And a half.
That extra detail is really important at her stage.
Mum clings to the additional six months since her January birthday like a golden trophy. Being 96 is miraculous enough, but then to last another half a year? Incredible.
Last night I asked her about her life at 96 and a half.
So what are the worst pitfalls of living so long?
She talks about the frailty thing, and the surety of sadness.
Who would envision burying their oldest child at ninety-one? You tend to trust your kids are safe from harm by that age, but no, they too are coming full circle and mortality is perilous.
You cannot live ninety-six and a half years and not have experienced sadness. It’s called ‘experience’ and it’s part of the deal.
How do you keep living independently, when you have the memory of a goldfish?
She giggles. It isn’t unkind, it is true, and she’ll tell you she’s a realist.
She knows she can’t remember to drink when thirsty. She knows she doesn’t put on a robe, or wear socks, when her feet are purple with cold. And differentiating day and night is a complete mystery.
But somehow she gets by and sees the funny side.
Are you ok; are you happy?
She smiles and shrugs. With no agenda she says, Yes, of course, I have to be, and makes it sound like a ridiculous question.
What are the benefits in living so long?
Mum laughs as we joke over the questionable, and very sensible, things she does:
Spooning marmalade from the jar the way a kid sneaks candy. Giving the neighbours an eyeful when she undresses in front of a window. Ignoring the various walking aids strategically left around the house. Having someone else prepare and serve meals. Choosing not to wear a bra whenever possible. Refusing to go to every family function. Opting for comfy pyjamas instead of day clothes.
It’s about the freedom to be who you are, and not worry what others think.
She guesses she might be ninety, doesn’t know what season we’re in, and thinks twenty dollars is a lot of money. And none of it matters.
It comes as no surprise.
My mother has always lived a quiet life, not of Thoreau’s desperation, but of courage, strength and optimism.
And even though mum well understands that end of life is coming sooner than later, she isn’t bitter or regretful for how it turned out. She refuses to look back and say if only, or why?
She is content to drift into the future, watching the dappled sunshine and occasional parrots that come for crusts. Satisfied with a hot meal and a nice cup of tea. Content to cherish today’s visitors in person, and yesterday’s in her dreams.
I might sound more than a little biased.
My mum is adored by personal carers and random strangers, probably because she has not given in to bitterness or complaint.
If there were an award for Best in Growing Old, I’m pretty damn sure my mum would win.
Of course, she would accept politely, give a gorgeous, glowing smile, and probably ask for a nice cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. And for her, that would be reward enough.
