“There is no old age. There is as there always was, just you” Carol Matthau
I was reading an article in one of the Sunday Mail magazines this morning, that really rang bells for me. It was entitled “This Life” by Diana Athill. She writes about what it is like to be 90 years old, and much of what she says really touches me - because of my Grandad (who will be 100 years old on August 11th) but also because as a cancer survivor myself, who has also lost many friends and relatives to cancer - I can really relate to what she is saying.
Diana said that she’d always avoided celebrating birthdays in the past - but somehow reaching 90 felt like a landmark. I know Grandad feels like this about achieving 100. However reaching a great age is not all smiles (read any of the posts in meet my grandad above and you’ll see why) - almost all your friends & siblings have died - in fact going to funerals becomes something you do frequently enough to be classed as a hobby. And it’s only when you cease getting such invitations that you realise there is nobody left from your group - you are the last survivor. They are all dead.
Diana described a journey she recently made through Primrose Hill, London - she saw it as a map of her life’s journey. I could so relate to this. Recently when I was in Warwickshire on business, I drove from Stratford to Solihull and it was like rewinding an old black and white movie of my past. I passed the road where one of my closest friends used to live - and the pub where a man I loved (and still love) literally swung me off my feet with such joy at seeing me, and the bluebell woods where Gilly and I walked the dogs, and the vet’s surgery where I used to take Henry (my beloved cat) - and then it dawned on me: they’re all dead now. Even the dogs and the cat are gone, every one of them, gone. And I’m only half Grandad’s age. It’s hard to accept death, but especially when those you love and lose are young.
That is the awful thing about getting older; your friends die, and your beloved pets too. They get to the end before you do - and the misery you feel is barely compensated for by remaining alive without them. Yet you want to be alive and to live, live, live. You just wish they could be here too.
Grandad must expeience these feelings by the bucket load daily. The only trouble is, he’s not sure he wants to be alive at 99 anymore. He gets more bad days than good days now. On Friday he told me that his room felt like a prison cell as he was unable to leave it now. I had to bite the inside of my cheeks so the pain would stop me crying. I did admit that I recognised how hard it was for him - I told him I understood - but he worries that if he upsets me I might not want to visit. As if.
There is little joy in being nearly 100 though, when you are in constant pain, sans teeth, sans hearing, sans eyes, almost sans everything. You’ve heard me say that before, I know. I keep wondering who I’m wanting Grandad to stay alive for. I’m not sure it’s for him.
Diana pointed out that, seeing the young gives her great joy: “They are lovely to look at and interesting in what they do and they counteract the pesimism of old age.” I know Grandad finds it a comfort seeing the young - they are the new beginnings, teeming with life and energy - they remind him of what was, what is, and what will be. His face lights up when I enter the room, still after all these years.
Diana also says that “the physical inertia of old age maks enjoyable things rarer, and because they are rarer they are even better than they used to be.” So for Grandad, being pushed in his wheelchair down to the seafront for an ice cream - is like a holiday from prison. An ice-cream - a wonderful treat. Meeting an old aquaintance, or even a new one, a short ride in a car even to the outpatients department of the hospital is an adventure. He still likes adventures.
Lastly, Diana says that one of the joys of old age is that you remember the pleasures of life - and no longer feel a need to purge the pains you experienced. That’s surely worth getting old for, isn’t it?
Somewhere Towards the End by Diana Athill is published by Granta. I suspect it’s worth a read.
(If this post made you feel miserable - this will cheer you up! It makes me laugh everytime: karoake for the deaf! Apologies to anyone who thinks it’s not politically correct!)
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