What Scares You Most About Getting Old(er)?

One friend is worried his fading memory and inability to recall what movie he saw last night, or even the fleeting thought he just had a moment ago, is a precursor, a premonition, of dementia. He’s fearful there will likely come a time, not too long in the future, when he might not be able to remember the names of family members or other essential information.

Another friend, aware he has developed a slight tremor in his hand and now walks much more slowly than he used to, is justifiably scared this could be the beginning of Parkinson’s or some other neurological disorder. He’s concerned maybe there soon will be a time when he might not be able to type on a keyboard or get down on the floor and play with his grandkids.

Then there’s the guy I know who is uncomfortably cognizant of the knowledge he has now lived longer than either of his parents. By his age, both of them had succumbed to cancer. He wonders about a mole on his arm and the occasional shortness of breath.

A friend’s father, already quite elderly and somewhat debilitated, was most scared his children were going to take away the keys to the car, that he was about to lose the last important vestige of his independence.

There are, of course, other fears you begin to develop when you’ve gotten older: becoming a burden, running out of money, being alone.

For me, for the me who has worn glasses since the eighth grade, my greatest fear about getting older always had been losing my sight. What would I do, how would I cope, if I couldn’t see? It’s always been a terrifying thought.

But now, having recently survived a massive heart attack that almost — maybe should have — killed me, I’m scared most, of course, of it happening again. I’m scared of each occasional little flutter in my chest, even though the cardiologist says they are perfectly normal, nothing to worry about.

Like almost everyone else around my age, that is, I’m now worried about dying.

But with the extremely significant exception of death, what scares us about aging isn’t generally one single thing. It’s more a cluster of symptoms and losses and possibilities that no longer feel vague and far off. They feel increasingly real and much closer at hand, no longer abstract. They are grounded in what we have started to experience personally or witness directly.

When we now check the obituaries — which my aged parents always did and I vowed never to do — we reflexively register those who have died at our age, or worse, even younger. We note the increasing number of medical appointments on our calendars and are aware so many of our friends and relatives are having surgeries or scheduling MRIs or CT scans or undergoing radiation or getting infusions.

So, we try to eat well, work out regularly and do as many challenging crossword puzzles as possible to stave off the inevitable, but still we worry. Or maybe it’s because we worry that we try to eat well, work out regularly and attempt the crossword puzzles. We know what’s coming and, even if we don’t always admit it to ourselves, it scares us.

What scares you the most?