A “Last” Word
I just finished reading a mystery novel, and in the very first sentence we learn that the protagonist is 60 years old. That’s a year older than me. OK, cool. But then within the course of the first few pages, the author’s descriptions of her made it clear that this woman who is just a year older than me is, well, old. And then I read a bunch of reviews of the book to see whether other people agreed that the protagonist is old, and a whole bunch of people referred to her as elderly.
Wait now. Hold up. Elderly? Me? It would be fair to say I had a strong reaction to seeing that word used about someone who was 60 years old.
So I did a little search, and what I’m learning is that (it’s complicated and) old age starts around age 60-65. [Deep breath] So, apparently, yes, I am a year away from being elderly.
Now. Some of you who have read some of my recent posts might accuse me of being a bit too obsessed with aging. Well! I am here to tell you that: you’re right. It seems to be around me all the time lately. To be fair, I am subscribed to some half-dozen Old People newsletters, which maybe has something to do with it, going out on a limb here.
Also to do with it is a series of “lasts” that I’ve been witnessing recently.
There are the “last time I’ll talk to you” lasts. Mala’s brother-in-law, Lee, passed away in January. Once he entered hospice care, he made calls to people who were important to him. I can totally imagine being the person who makes those calls — because of course if I know I only have a short time left, I’d want to connect with everyone I care about. But it’s hard for me to imagine being on the receiving end of that call — the swirling cacophony of emotions.* “This is the last time I’ll talk to you.” The grief as I click “Leave Meeting” on Zoom.
There are the “last time I’ll do this thing” lasts. My parents and I went to India in January. A major impetus for the trip, on my end, was that, at age 89, this would likely be my dad’s last trip there. I felt a pressing need to help make that happen. And in the airport as we were returning to the U.S., I felt the weight of that “last.” What does it feel like to know I’ll never see a sister/brother/sibling/relative/best friend in person again?*
There are the “looking back, I realize that last time I did that thing will be the last time I’ll ever do that thing” lasts. I probably won’t go backpacking again, something that I used to love. Not only because I am elderly, but also because I am elderly. And before anyone gets on my case that it’s never too late to do anything blah blah blah: sure. But there’s an undeniable way that when I was in my 30s, I could just, you know, go backpacking. Choose some dates and trails, pack my backpack, and head off. It’s not so easy now. Now, I have to prioritize “going backpacking” as a thing I make space, time, and multiple trips to the gym for. It for sure includes a whole lot of physical considerations I have now that I did not have when I was in my 30s. Could I go backpacking again? Sure. Will I prioritize everything it takes in order to make that happen? Um … probably not? And I’m OK with that?
The last time I went backpacking, I was not aware that it would be The Last Time I Go Backpacking. What am I doing today, this week, this month, that I won’t ever do again? Does it matter? Maybe not. But also, maybe? Maybe I’d cherish the experience in a more bountiful way, somehow. Maybe it’s just Reminder #35723957453 to stay present, pay attention, and appreciate what I have … because what I have right now is so, so ephemeral.
The “lasts” will keep piling up. And knowing that, I can embrace it. I can be clear-eyed that every single thing I take for granted at this moment might not be true at the next moment. And that is to be celebrated.
So say I, and you must listen, because I am an Elderly.
*These are real, not rhetorical, questions. Please share your thoughts and experiences!