The Golden Years

When people think about getting old some think about old men playing golf in pastel shirts and old women playing bridge. Some people see old men sitting on front porches and old women baking pastries while grandkids come in and out of the house. Some even see Grandpa in a speedo and Grandma wearing gaudy gold beads on some beach in Florida.


When I see old people I most usually see people who have had all of their possessions stripped away from them and homes full of memories reduced down to a box or two of belongings that they get to take with them to a tiny bedroom that they have to share with another person. I see people who have lain inactive for so long that their muscles have drawn and their fingers are twisted knots and their legs are intertwined so tightly that it seems nearly impossible to untangle them. I see women who used to have nice clothes that now have worn clothing that are stained and tattered from wear. I see men, who once were proud providers are now reduced to wheeling themselves in the hall searching out each other in companionship. Their war tattoos still blaze on their forearms, only the light in their eyes have dimmed. I see husbands and wives who no longer recognize each other when they pass in the hall. I see memory loss and sadness. I smell urine and feces. I don't see happy grandkids running about, or the smell of homemade pies. I hope and pray that I am never put in a nursing home to "live". I want to live to be an old lady with my husband (if I have one). I want our children to be a daily part of our lives. I want all of my children to know that we love them, and one night, I hope that we (the husband and myself) will go to bed and he will wrap his bony arms around my saggy body and we will both pass away in each others embrace. Our children will know we went happily and we will both be ready to go. Now, I know the chances of this happening are slim to none, but I do know that if I had to choose a death that would be it.