Getting Old
by Lydia Kelley
There are some things no one tells you about getting older. You hear about the aches and pains, the joints that fail, the loss of hearing and such. And I’ve got all that. But I don’t think of myself as old; I just think of myself as me. I look in the mirror and see the wrinkles and gray hair and I definitely acknowledge this as the face of an old woman. I look down at my hands and think “when did I get my grandmother’s hands?” But the “me” inside is still the me at 20 or 30 or 40, not 70. I sit in a room at the eye doctor’s office and look at these old people, and then I think I might be the oldest person here! But I don’t see myself that way.
I don’t try to fool myself into thinking I can do all I could do at 30 or 40. I can’t lift heavy things. Years ago, I was trying to get a newly-bought microwave from the shopping cart into the back of my car. It wasn’t that heavy and I could have managed it, but these two young girls popped over and said let us help you with that. And I let them. I thanked them profusely. But I thought then that I’m officially old. Young folks feel the need to help me.
It’s not bad being 71 (very soon to be 72). I really don’t mind. I wouldn’t want to go back. I’m thankful to God for every day He gives me. And I’m also thankful that I don’t feel old. Well, sometimes I do. As I said, I have the aches and the bad knees and the diminished hearing. But my spirit is still light and young and happy. So I don’t think of myself as an old person. To me, my grandmother was always an old person. Now, I wonder how she perceived herself. Maybe inside she was the girl of 25 who saw the turn of the century (from the 19th to the 20th). And is this how my grandkids see me — an old woman, not as the fairly spry 50 year old who saw the turn of the millennium?
So, I guess to people I meet now for the first time, I will be that old woman. Is that bad? No, it’s just that they won’t know what I feel inside. No one tells them. No one told me. But now, I’ve let the cat out of the bag. It’s all part of remembering that this outer shell is not who we are, just what we’re wearing. And, although I’m wearing wrinkles and gray hair, I’m not old; I’m just me.
