“Once upon a time, I was falling in love. Now I’m only falling apart.”

~ Heart

I’m still in love, but the falling apart bit rings true for me. The recent eclipse reminded me that time and the universe move on, with or without us.  

I’ve had various aches and pains for as long as I can remember, mostly they result from sports activities I engaged in when I was younger. Treatments and surgery took care of most physical problems, but now it’s the unspecified creakiness that makes it hard to get out of bed (or stay in) and that reminds me of my age when I try to stand up after sitting too long.

Some of my friends appear to be showing their ages too; almost all younger than me, and that makes me curious how my own appearance has changed over time. My once-blond hair is now white and shows the beginnings of the male-pattern baldness my uncle and grandfather had. My hip and back make it difficult to bend too far over, so often I lean against something for support when I have to get something off the floor.

In anticipation of each doctor’s visits, I prepare a list of my meds, and a catalog of various physical issues I have. (I’m sure there’s a long list of mental issues as well, but I keep forgetting about them.) However, most of the time I don’t feel old. I feel like I can think as well as I ever did, I still enjoy the things I used to enjoy, and appreciate learning new stuff (except for computers and phones — those are a pain, not to mention more difficult with my stiff fingers. And also, the new music. I can stretch to handle some Rap, some metal, but only in small doses.)

I’m not morbid about it, but over the last couple of years I’ve lost friends and relatives who were near my age, and I daily check the obituaries for names I recognize. I count my blessings when I don’t see my own name (or yours) on the lists, but admit I find it shocking to see how many of the dead celebrities were younger than me. Deaths of movie and TV stars from my childhood are somewhat anticipated, but I still see them as they were back then. And I must admit that I tend to blame drugs, alcohol or religious fervor for their ‘untimely’ demise. 

Adapting to being one of the ‘old guys’ has taken a bit of discipline. I easily see myself as I was during my school days, or the height of my career, or as a young husband and father. My son is now 35 years old, and I have heard myself described as ‘grandfatherly’. Remembering mine, I take that as a compliment, but it is a double-edged sword. Am I really that old?   

Back in the old days, when I was young, anyone over thirty was considered a has-been and most likely untrustworthy. Fifty was really old. My own seventy-four years would have relegated me to a rocking chair at an old folk’s home. (I admit that my rocking chair is pretty alluring, but I limit my time there, partly because rocking doesn’t count as exercise.). 

Us old folks need to stay engaged. These young’uns don’t always seem to get what works or what is needed. Maybe we can’t do as much directly, but one feature of advanced age is our experience and, yes, the wisdom it provides. We can always give advice at critical moments. Trust me, those kids appreciate nothing as much from us as free, unasked-for advice.

At least, that’s the way I wish it was …