Getting Old Is a Bitch

Aging is hard. Watching your parents’ age is harder.

The people I once saw as steady, authoritative, and almost invincible now seem more fragile with each passing day. Seeing that change unfold is painful in a way that is difficult to describe.

I do not mind getting older. Age brings experience, perspective, and wisdom earned over many years. What frightens me, though, is the possibility of losing the ability to think clearly or move freely.

That fear feels especially close now because I can see some of those losses beginning to affect my parents.

My mom is struggling physically, mostly because of ongoing back problems. She has other health concerns as well, but her back seems to be the main source of pain and limitation.

Mentally, she still seems sharp. Emotionally, though, she appears stressed. Even so, I do not worry about her as much as I worry about my dad. She is strong-willed and has a remarkable ability to push through whatever life places in front of her.

My dad had a minor stroke a few years ago, and walking has not been the same for him since. Still, he continues to get around. He goes to church, runs errands at the store and post office, and even makes it to the fitness center twice a week to ride the stationary bike.

In the last three years, he has also been through prostate surgery and open-heart surgery. He recovered well from those procedures, but now he is back in the hospital, this time fighting a kidney infection.

Each time I visit my dad in the hospital, I notice the urgency in the faces of the doctors, nurses, and caretakers. They always seem to be concerned about something, and I understand why. No matter how much I try to prepare myself, hospitals are difficult places to visit.

Every moment I spend with both feels precious. We still laugh and joke together, and they are looking forward to seeing their grandchildren and celebrating their oldest grandson’s wedding in a couple of weeks.

I know it is difficult for them to move around at home, manage regular errands, and travel to New Orleans for the wedding. Still, they will do what is necessary to be there.

Three years ago, we moved back from Texas to Louisiana for this very reason: to be closer to both sets of our parents and to help them through seasons like this. I am grateful that we can be here for them now when it matters most.

I know the clock is ticking. Time is the ultimate luxury - something no one can buy more of, and something no one knows when they will lose.

And time seems to move quickly now – the moments carrying more weight – every second yearning to become a minute, an hour, a day, a week.

Growing older is difficult anywhere, but in the United States it comes with its own set of challenges. Our healthcare system is adequate at best, and insurance companies make too many of the decisions that should belong to patients and doctors. The costs are outrageous compared with those in other industrialized countries, yet the outcomes do not prove that we are doing any better.

And so we keep juggling the logistics of the healthcare system while facing the harder truth beneath it all: time is limited, and none of us knows how much of it remains.

Now we look forward to my son’s wedding - a gathering of young and old, family and friends, all coming together to celebrate the union of two people and the life they are beginning together.