I Used to Be Somebody — The #1 Lesson You Can Learn From an Old Person

A Life Behind the Wrinkles

Timeline: 1980’s

They used to be somebody. That realization hit me like a lightning bolt, as I walked the corridors of the nursing home where my mother-in-law was recovering from surgery, and I saw the pictures on the bulletin boards outside the residents’ rooms.

A wedding picture of a young, exuberantly smiling bride and groom from 50 years ago. Photos of newborn babies in “vintage” baby carriages and playpens. Young children in “old fashioned” clothing. Graduation pictures. Vacation pictures of a man and woman in the prime of life (30’s and 40’s) enjoying the surf, posing in ski gear on a mountain, dancing in a nightclub, enjoying a sunset cocktail on a boat in the serene waters of the Caribbean. Gee, I thought, they used to have lives like I have now. They used to be somebody.

They were not always the wrinkled, shriveled, debilitated old men and women slumped in wheelchairs, some half-conscious, some fully sleeping that populated the “activity”, TV, and therapy rooms. They were not always wrapped mummies — mere body shells. Seemingly empty inside.

Looking at the pictures outside of the rooms, I could not get the thought out of my head — They used to be somebody.

They used to be as I was at that point in my life — living what I felt was the ideal life:

Over 25 years with a husband I was madly in love with. A job I looked forward to going to with enthusiasm and excitement every day.

Still young (in my 40’s) enough to be physically able and agile. Still able to enjoy a passionate relationship with the man who, after more than a quarter of a century, still lit me on fire by simply smiling at me.

We were raising a teenager with all the stress and surprises that entails.

We had money to pay our bills. Sometimes. Sometimes not. But we were living and enjoying life and good health.

“No, no, no”, I said to my husband. “We’re not going to end up like this. We’re not. Are we? Of course not. We’re going to remain healthy, active, and cognitively sharp up until our last breath.”

Today — 30+ years later:

You see a stooped-over little old lady slowly walking down the street leaning on a brightly colored flowered cane.

I remember the vibrant woman inside the little old lady; the woman who used to walk upright and steady.

You don’t know about the series of illnesses that left her unsteady and unbalanced.

You see a woman with melancholy, sad eyes.

I remember a face with eyes that lit up and sparkled until those of her life-long love were closed forever.

You don’t know about the toll years of caregiving for her ill husband took on her lust for life. You don’t know how his death left her eyes as dead as he was.

You see a woman who tires quickly when the children of the family want her to join in hours of playing and frolicking.

I remember a woman who could entertain a group of children of all ages with crafts and games, holding down the bouncing 3-year-old with one hand, while demonstrating and instructing the rest of the group with the other hand.

You don’t know how years of illness have left her so tired. So very tired.

You are impatient with a woman who speaks slowly, struggling to recall facts and information.

I remember a bright woman who could converse smoothly and intelligently on a variety of subjects.

You don’t know how oxygen deprivation during serious medical issues has negatively affected her recall and verbal expression.

You don’t know anything about her because when you hear her talk, you arrogantly dismiss her with the current contemptuous phrase — “Yeah, Boomer”, which translates to — “Nothing you have to say is of any importance.”

Perhaps if you took the time to talk to the old woman, to get to know the person behind the wrinkles and clouded eyes, you would learn that she used to be somebody — somebody just like you are now. Someone strong and healthy with an exciting job, a great love, or children. Or maybe, all of the above.

You would learn that you, too, will age; that you too will suffer illnesses (either your own or those of your loved ones); that you too will suffer loss. No one gets through life without a number of tragedies, sorrows, and difficult struggles.

But most important of all, if you listen to her, you may learn valuable coping skills from a woman whose long life has forced her to experiment with scores of them. She could teach you how to cope and carry on after tragedy and loss. She could teach you how to live when you think all hope is lost. She could teach you so much………if you bothered to ask and listen.

You’re missing a wealth of information about living and coping if you don’t look behind the wrinkles and listen to the wisdom of us “Yeah, Boomers”, because…………..we used to be somebody. Just like you.

©Joan Gershman 2022

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