This week Michael invites you to weave a tale dealing with Aging. No matter the age we are now tomorrow we will be a day older, we don’t get younger, sadly.
What does aging mean to you?
Are you a grumpy old man or woman, or a person who sees joy and happiness in what you have and who you are.
Image Google images – Labelled for re-use.
When I was 16, getting old was years into the future. I would look at people in their 50s and 60s, noting their grey hair and use of sticks, eye glasses and false teeth, thinking that at the turn of the millennium, I would be a mere 43, approaching 44, so it didn’t worry me.
That’s actually 18 years ago now, and sadly time does not go backwards.
My hair is peppered rather than grey, I still have my own teeth, though not quite so many, and I’ve been wearing glasses for years, with no desire for contacts or eye surgery.
I used sticks when I damaged my knee two years ago, and was on crutches after getting a little too carried away dancing in the street to buskers a couple of years before that.
But what I hadn’t been prepared for was the aches and pains, or sleepless interrupted nights due to needing the loo or thoughts whizzing inside my head which I can’t switch off.
I look at ‘old folk’ now and realise that some are probably younger than me! We all age differently depending on our circumstances and lifestyles, so I guess to some extent, I’ve been pretty lucky, though in 1987-88 I wasn’t so sure.
I look in the mirror each day now and see my Mum (bless her), and looking across at Hubby, see his Dad sometimes.
I realise that ‘young people’ in my day are now in their 40s, I have three nephews over 50, and my great great nephew, the youngest in the family just now, will be 5 this year.
I found a photo the other day of Sis, me and my Dad on her wedding day in 1976. I was 20.
My long hair is thick, glossy and dark but not as long as it is now.
We’re all laughing, and in photographs in later years, you can tell it is the same person as my eyes and smile have not changed much, just my shape and dress size with my continuous battle of the bulges.
My sister has aged more so than I. Her hair turned white overnight after the birth of her second daughter in 1982 and her face is thinner and more angled, though when she smiles, you can see the similarity.
Dad is simply my Dad. He’ll always be laughing and joking in my mind, a man full of time, warmth and love for both of his daughters, taken from us and the woman he loved for 46 years at the young age of 67 in 1996.
I’m 62 this year, and God willing, I’ll be around for a good few years yet. The arthritis is getting the better of me some days, but I hope I shall still have my hair, teeth and good assisted eyesight, though my hearing might shift down a gear or three next.