MY LIFE, AS I KNOW IT, IS OVER. To be clear, I have always considered my life fun, flirty, fast-paced, filled with competitive races, too much partying and drinking, too little sleep, too many babies to raise, too much work to do with no time set aside to do it and hours spent on hair, makeup, wardrobe, shaving this or that, nails polished, facials and all the other trappings of youth.
But all that’s over — today I’m 70!
Seriously, people are supposed to say “Oh, no way, you don’t look a day over 30.” But the responses are some variation of the following: “OMG! You must be devastated.” Or “That’s amazing, you look great FOR YOUR AGE.” Or “Well, you’re not fat.” And one of my personal favorites: “How old were your parents when they died?” Usually, after this uplifting gambit, people say things such as: “Well, be careful,” or, “Can I help you carry that?” or, “Are you sure you should drive in the dark?” Or, another personal favorite: “Make the most out of every day you have left.”
Excuse me? You might get hit by a bus the moment I step away. You should be careful, too. I have plans for 2027 including the wedding of my youngest child, Gracie. My mother lived to be a fit 98, filled with vim and vigor until her final days. She would repeatedly tell me, “Some things are worse than death, Carolyn.”
Like what? That is the end of the game, after all. There are no do-overs then. And even though I consider these people who dare to speak to me this way to be complete ignoramuses who were not gifted with a drop of social grace, I do see where they’re coming from. There is a great fear of the final years of life for those who live through it and for their observers, too. Things don’t quite work as they once did. That’s the nasty truth of it. But heads up, some of us elderly people are pretty mobile, pretty fit, pretty clear thinking and pretty pissed off that we’re being chased by the dragon of doom.
Back up the truck
Every elderly person over 60 asks: How did this happen to me? How did we get here? We were young and vibrant and alive. Construction workers always whistled at my ass! Now they ask if I can move a little faster so they can back up the cement mixer. People were always interested in me and wanted to know my thoughts. Now they wonder if I like the cottage cheese. Trust me, this is a tough time of being invisible and unimportant and hard of hearing and a general bummer to be around. It’s the way I used to feel when my mother would insist that I go to tea with her and her friends for a couple of hours on a Sunday. Absolute torture!
For women? We are without hormones and without that beautiful smooth youthful skin. Mirrors are our enemies. I think it an affront to have a full-length mirror in the bathroom and tried to have it taken out when my husband, proud as a peacock with his physique, refused and told me to use one of the kids’ bathrooms. Relegated to the kids’ room!
The indecency of the whole aging thing is unbearable. And I won’t even begin to speak of my reaction to a stealthy approach for intimacy. Good God, is he mad? Now is the time for us to have fun, the kids are all gone, but it’s too late. Missed the opportunity. Gone, gone, gone with my hormones. And I hope you love my matching sweat suit that I wear to bed every night, with my hot water bottle clenched to my midsection.
At some point recently, I decided I would try to fight it hard. I mean really hard. I pulled out my black leather mini skirt, black tights and black Chanel high boots, with a tight tiger print tank top, perfect hair and makeup and perfume. I put on my best jewelry, flossed, brushed AND gargled before lipstick. I checked myself out and sure, I looked a little bit like Phyllis Diller (look her up), but it sure beats Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies (look her up too while you’re at it).
Costume party
It was my husband’s birthday in October, and I teetered and tottered on my heels down the stairway and he said, “As always you are late. Let’s get going.” We met our children at a place nearby. Joe got out, and I parked the car. It’s hard parking in that neighborhood after dark, but I’m proud to say I did it all by myself AND I found my way back two blocks in the high heel boots, sashaying all the way to the restaurant. I was HOT!
I walked in, and my daughter Kelly said, “Oh, I didn’t know we were supposed to dress up for Halloween?” Humiliation fueled my fury as I said, “Neither did I.” All eyes were now on me, and my oldest son burst out laughing. So did Joe. Gracie, the most sensitive of my children, said, “You look so cute!” Joey just looked at me smiling and biting his tongue. I could storm off or join in with the joke. Being a lifelong people-pleaser, I joined in.
Embrace every season of your life with dignity and don’t travel back in time. Never give in to the dragon of doom. And for God’s sake keep running like hell in your scuffies.
We had a wonderful time, but I did learn a new and painful lesson. Embrace every season of your life with dignity and don’t travel back in time. Don’t give up, though. Never give in to the dragon of doom, and for God’s sake keep running like hell in your scuffies. This is my “elderly season,” and I will embrace it as much as possible.
Think of the benefits. I can tell anyone off for anything without getting fired because I don’t have a job. I can dress comfortably, and no one will notice or object. I can stay home from an event, and any excuse will be acceptable. I can take an afternoon nap, and no one will accuse me of a hangover. And I can kvetch with my fellow elders about this and that and they’ll all nod with deep appreciation. And finally, I can re-read every book and it will be just like the first time. I don’t have to impress anyone anymore about anything.
And when people greet me and inquire about my health, I can say “I’m fabulous. I’m just worried about you.”
About the author
Carolyn P. Short is a retired corporate trial lawyer and a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania in a creative writing masters program. She lives with her husband Joe Torsella and their dog Lilly. She has 4 grown children and 3 grandchildren. She grew up #6 of 7 in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
What does a longer lifespan mean to you? Talented local columnists tag-team every Friday to tackle the challenges that inform your choices — whether you’re pushing 17 or 70. Recent Stanford Center on Longevity Visiting Scholar Susan Nash looks at life experiences through an acerbic personal lens, while other longtime writers take the macro view to examine how society will change as the aging population grows ever larger. Check in every Friday to expand your vision of living the long game and send us your feedback, column suggestions and ideas for future coverage to newsroom@baycitynews.com.