Not just “older” . . . but really, really OLD.

Forget the creeping loss of mobility and balance; everyone experiences those, to some extent. Forget the gradual loss of hearing, eyesight, or teeth; there are doctors to help with those things (if you can afford them). And never mind the insistent aching in the joints and abs and pecs and knees and feet and hands and muscles you didn’t even know you had; take your prescription pain killers and move on.

But the loss of spirit, of drive, of confidence that you can do whatever it is that moves you at the moment . . . that is the real killer.

And the first, most terrifying symptom is when you find yourself saying or thinking:

“I don’t care.”

> “I don’t care” if the picture on the wall is crooked, or the fridge needs cleaning out, or my shirt is wrinkled. It’s not the end of the world.

> “I don’t care” what I eat today; it all tastes the same lately, or it’s too hard to chew, or it upsets my stomach.

> “I don’t care” if it’s a beautiful 70-degree spring day; walking is boring.

> “I don’t care” about my birthday next week; it’s just a reminder of how old I am.

> “I don’t care” that the world is falling apart; I won’t be around to witness it for much longer.

> And finally: “I don’t care” if I wake up in the morning.

You’re thinking that your best years are far behind you, and there’s nothing to look forward to but more of the same: the same aches and pains; the same younger people treating you like a slow-witted child; the same longing for the years of romance, and babies, and jobs, and travel, and the old anticipation that each morning might bring some new adventure.

They say we should be grateful for the long, productive life we’ve had, and for all of the amazing memories. For the things we’ve accomplished, the good work we’ve done, and the people whose lives we’ve touched, and who have touched ours. And most of us are grateful for those things.

But is it enough, when it feels as though those memories are all that’s left? When all or most of your oldest, dearest friends are gone, and you’re one of the last flames still flickering? When your family members insist you’re not a bother . . . but you know better, because they still have busy lives and better things to do than your laundry?

The lucky ones continue to enjoy generally good health and are able to remain active well into their 80s, and even their 90s.

But for most of us — even those with caring family and friends — it’s a gradual decline into decrepitude, and the lonely realization that, no matter how many people you have around you, you’re really on this journey alone.

Because the only people who truly understand how you feel are the people your own age . . . and too many of them are already gone.

*. *. *

That’s not every day, of course . . . or I certainly hope it isn’t. Most days bring something, if not actually exciting, at least cheerful: a phone call from a friend or relative, an invitation to dinner or a show, a new book release by your favorite author, or simply waking up feeling pretty good. In my case, a positive comment from a reader on my latest blog post is enough to brighten my day. It’s all about the little things.

So we go on, because the alternative is not acceptable. And because — again, in my case — I really do want to live long enough to see Ukraine win the war, and every last one of the world’s demagogues brought to justice, and the Red Sox win another World Series.

Maybe I’ll even buy a winning Lottery ticket this week.

Wouldn’t that be something to write about!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
7/12/26