Taming the Senior Beast

My mother was not a whiner or complainer, but she often said, "It's hell to get old." At the time, I just chuckled...but it's not so funny now. I get it, now! My mother passed away suddenly at age 67--far too young for those of us who relied on her for emotional support. What bothers me is that I am now 64, and I have my doubts that I will make it as long as she did!

No one warned me--nor would I have believed them if they did--that old age brings anger. No one wants to get older, but it is inevitable...and those of us who aren't rich don't have the luxury of plastic surgery. I mean, Cher is my age...but she doesn't look it. We all know why. It's just not fair.

When my daughter was a teenager, we would run errands. She would refuse to go into a store because she wasn't fixed up. I wasn't either. Her comment, in so many words, was "It's okay for you to go in. No one will notice." Then there was the time that I jokingly asked my grandson if I was beautiful, and he responded, innocently, "I think you used to be." And the fellow at the Indy 500 who said, "You were probably a 'looker' in your day." I'm sorry. The message is unmistakable: old people are invisible and don't count.

Baby Boomers like me make up a huge percentage of America's population today, but television is all about people under age 35. What is aimed at us? "I've fallen, and I can't get up!" Reverse mortgage ads...insurance ads about Medicare supplements, Internet jokes about sagging breasts and the inability to hear or see or walk or contain our bladders and bowels. This is funny? Every single person on the planet will endure these problems. Why aren't we providing services to help seniors get through the anger and depression that come with losing the ability to be in touch with body parts that we can no longer see or reach?? I can't really cut my own toenails any more, but I can't afford monthly pedicures. What am I to do??

When I retired, I did so with the happy knowledge that I could better help out with the grandchildren who lived with me. And then, suddenly and without my prior knowledge, they were gone. Poof! Oh yes....just before that, there was the heart attack. I remember going down the aisles of the grocery store saying, "I can't have this; I can't have that." Anger at situations I could no longer control. It is what it is, but no one prepared me. No one explained that I was going to be frustrated without any ability to fix it.

The last time I got my hair cut with the fellow who has been doing it for 20 years, he butchered it. I mean, hair grows, so it should not have been that big a deal, but my hair is problematic. I don't have much of it, and just looking "normal" is always a challenge. I'll be talking to him about this before he cuts it again. It's only just now beginning to look right after almost two months.

Do you know what hurts most? Everything that I used to be able to do for myself I must now pay for. My friends--God bless them all--that I used to rely on for assistance with things are now suffering from old age, as well. Bad backs, bad knees, loss of strength, weight problems. It doesn't end. You work your fanny off all your life to eke out a living and provide for your family, and your reward is to get old and not know which ache or pain could spell your last. It just isn't fair!

I can hear the voices saying, "Life isn't fair". No, it isn't, and I am so very grateful for what I have. I'd just like to see society have a little bit of understanding that there is anger that comes with growing older. It's depressing. Two years ago when I experienced the worst wrench of my life, I reached out everywhere looking for a group or a service that could help. Guess what? Nothing in all of Hendricks County! Nothing to help with the grief and depression. I did the best I could.

My sister is now enduring the beginning throes of a spouse with dementia. She is largely unsupported, and sometimes under attack. She vents to me, but I don't think even her children get it...and I can't be there for her every day. For what it's worth, sister-dear, we are Covill/Armstrong women, and we will survive as God permits! Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead!