Tainted Gold

The term, "the Golden Years" is a misnomer. Granted, I'll be 72 in less than a month and I'm still not dead so I guess you could say I'm one of the lucky ones.  You could say this is golden in and of itself since many of my peers are already pushing up daisies. But let's be honest here, there is a hell of a lot about this phase of life that is anything but golden.
Even if you are alive and well and, for the most part enjoying your every day existence, many people you know and love are struggling.  Pain is permeable, or at least it is for me. I seem to be able to look at a person and absorb their heartache. Sensitivity isn't always a good thing.  I was born under the sign of the fish and years ago someone actually nicknamed me "the sponge" because I cried so much. 
Lately conversations gravitate to such topics as the latest CAT scan results, Physical Therapy Appointments, Joint Replacements, Heart Surgeries, and Bowel and Bladder function. I learn about diseases I never even knew existed, and conditions that I really don't care to learn about.   I find myself craving discussions that contain the excitement of a few naughty words, words that use to make a young Catholic girl blush - words such as orgasm, erection, and sex.   I’m envious of the sexy, scantily clad, firm young female bodies walking on the beach as my once relatively shapely body morphs rapidly into old lady’s flesh.  The mirror doesn’t lie and everyone you meet subtly and not so subtly mirror this truth for you, “you’re an old lady, now”.  Deference or disgust can be seen in their faces and these faces radiate back to you what they see and who you are.
Nevertheless, hope springs eternal.  What are my choices here?  I could resume a fetal position and stay rolled up in a ball or I can go on.  I can schedule the next “people” event, prepare the next birthday cake, read the book that is waiting on the shelf, write that family story, and simply spend some time letting the sun wash over and through me.   I can continue to search for this entity that some people call God.  What I should be doing of course, is clearing away the clutter to make way for the new, even if the new isn’t necessarily for me.  It is the right thing to do, the most loving thing to do.
“Live in the Moment” becomes a vital life mantra when moments are slipping away ever so quickly. I talk about something that happened a short time ago only to do the calculations in my head and realize that a short time ago was actually 20-30 years in the past. If these past decades flew like a sonic jet, my mind and body contains the disturbing knowledge of how fast the next 20-30 years will proceed.  I want my remaining moments to stretch out a little longer.  My heart sometimes sings, “Give me Just a Little More Time…”
When they were in their 70’s, I remember my Aunt Anne O’Donnell once saying to my mother, “What do you think, Rita, that you’re going to live forever?”   Anne wanted my mother to look at life’s reality – we age (if we’re lucky) and we eventually die.   But, I have to say, I kind of like my mother’s approach.  A bit of fantasy isn’t a bad idea and my mother’s philosophy brings a smidgen of a smile to my face.   Plan for your next meal, look forward to the next wedding, luxuriate in your next nap, drink your next Perfect Rob Roy and continue to live in a bit of a state of blissful ignorance for as long as your breaths keep coming.  Several hours before my mother died in her bed at home, I spooned some vanilla ice cream to my mother’s lips and she kept opening her mouth and swallowing. She always loved her ice cream!