Growing Up Never Ends . . . Until We Die
The other night we were at a dinner party with our two teenage grandgirls. We were playing Jeopardy with 30 people in five teams. I was on a different team than my husband, Rick.
When a question came up about a 1950s hair style I buzzed in and yelled out “Ducks Ass.” My husband across the room did not hear me and he buzzed in and yelled out “Duck’s Ass.” It was the wrong answer and both teams lost 800 points.
My exasperated grandgirl turned to her grandfather and said “Pappy, Doo Doo already said Duck’s Ass,” and then she addressed the entire group, trying to explain or seeking redemption, yelling “but my grandparents are elderly.”
This precocious child could have said “old,” but she said “elderly.” I loved that she used this word, so dignified and kindhearted. The correct answer, of course, was “Duck’s Tail.”
Where am I going with this? Well, I believe people my age are viewed in a different light than we view ourselves. My husband is turning 77. He is anything but old. He cuts wood for the winter warmth, climbs mountains to see the vistas, skis like a bat out of hell down the steepest, scariest slopes, makes love like a teenager and continues to see the world with a bright curiosity.
Well, yes, he has more hair in his ears than on his head, he does fall asleep with chin on chest some afternoons, he loses things more often, his eyesight and hearing need attention, and his desire to explore the limits of his capabilities has waned—but just a bit.
We wake up every morning eager for what’s in store for the day. We see ourselves as youngsters until we pass the mirror and wonder “who is that old person?” We blame the mattress for our lower back pain. We dance around the house to ‘60s rock and roll, finish each other’s sentences when one of us looks confused, giggle when we cannot remember whether we watched a TV show or not (often watching it for a second or third time because it doesn’t look familiar).
We don’t have to try to be young at heart, because we are. Our family views us with endearing compassion and commends us for our physical endurance and youthful attitudes. I appreciate that my son says “you are a strong and strapping woman, mom” while helping me lift the 23-pound turkey out of the oven.
Our daughter, whose heart is pure gold, believes we need to slow down. We have let her know that slowing down would be death for us. As a matter of fact, I have told her that I need to pick up the pace because the years are getting shorter and there is still so much more I need to do.
It is going to take some convincing to alleviate the concern our family has about our aging. One of my grandgirls said to me “Doo Doo, you will never die.”
What can one say to that? I just looked into her searching brown eyes and told her that I will always live in her heart and never leave her. Indeed, I am preparing my family for the day when Rick and I finally say “farewell.” I believe when that day arrives, they will understand why we had to keep growing up and challenging ourselves way beyond our capabilities.
It is only when you succumb to the notion that age defines you that you become old. When age is but an accumulation of one’s experiences, skills, aspirations, hopes and dreams, loves and longings, and wins and losses, that is when we can peacefully meet our deaths with a deep sigh of contented relief.
