We all hope to age gracefully until we make our exit, however unlikely that may seem to those of us who have visited elderly relatives confined to nursing homes.
The other day I spent a few minutes chatting with an old man whom I have known since childhood. I don't refer to him as an "old man" in any disparaging way; it's simply a statement of fact. This fellow and his wife have the good fortune of living in their own home, even though they are in their late 80s, if not older, and have been married for 66 years. Husband and wife both suffer from multiple debilitating conditions which, in his case anyway, require him to take 22 medications daily.
Because I only see this gentleman, who lives in another state, two or three times a year, I asked him the obvious question at the outset of our conversation: "How's it going?"
He shrugged resignedly, with a sad half smile, but said nothing.
"Life goes on," I said, trying to sound upbeat.
"Unfortunately," he replied without a moment's hesitation.
This man does not strike me as being particularly melancholy. His mind is sharp, his eyes are bright. We had a pleasant chat. But he is bent and thin and shrunken and very feeble - a mere shadow of the robust, hard-working guy I knew when I was a boy. I think he would be the first to admit that, at some point in a very long life, gracefulness becomes a commodity that is in very short supply.
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