family, health

Getting Old Sucks

Getting old sucks on many levels. Your joints hurt. You become less flexible. Your hair either falls out or turns grey. You mobility eventually diminishes. And then your mind starts slipping. What doesn’t suck about all that?

Watching a loved one deteriorate is as debilitating as watching an addict dip deeper into their darkness. You see it in the coloring of their face. You see it in their gait. Maybe even in the speech or memory. You see it in their eyes. You see it. You live it. You hurt because of it. It’s a rippling and crippling effect if you let it consume you.

Its hard to watch whether near or far. Its challenging to not be consumed with the stress and worry as loved ones make hard decisions over and over again. Is it the right choice? Would I make that choice? Was enough money saved to cover the exorbitant care for seniors at a staffed facility? Will the staff take good care of your loved ones or is it more like sending them off to jail?

So many questions. No real answers. I don’t want to grow old for this reason alone. I want to stay as youthful as I can and live every day as if it was my last. In my experience elders of today don’t want to burden their adult children who live busy and hectic lives. I get that but then I think fast forward to when I am old. My kids grew up in a whole different world than I did. Landscape may be the same but the environment is so different. How will my kids handle me when I am older? I don’t even want to know the answer to that.

How will my family react when I reach the age of interventions and difficult decisions? I think it is time for a time capsule of sorts. One that will list my wishes as of today while I am of sound mind and body. Not my will and who gets what in my estate. What I need to remind myself of when its time to make the hard decisions that I might be too emotionally invested in to see the forest for the trees. One that can be a reminder when I am old and stubborn of what it was like when I was faced with the challenges of managing my parents’ future golden years and / or torture years as end of life nears.

Death is never anything one wants to talk about yet it is always something one should be aware of. Sudden death. Accidental death. Tragic death. Natural death. They all lead to the same harsh reality. And there is always a mess to clean up. A funeral. Tidying up of affairs. Settling unfinished business. Coping with the sorrow of loss. Moving on without that person(s). Wishing for just one more day. One more holiday. One more birthday.

I wrote this post before the tragedy involving Kobe Bryant and the others who perished in the helicopter crash (big news story). This would classify as a tragic and unexpected death. One that has lots of suffering for the ones left behind. Tomorrow is never promised. Make sure you tell those around you how important they are to you each and every day. You don’t want to live with the regrets if you are confronted with an unplanned death.

This isn’t a happy or sad post. Rather it is a matter of fact, in-your-face kind of think-out-loud post. One that may make you think of those aging close to you or maybe it may make you think of future planning or maybe it will even have you crying because of your past history. Whatever category you fall into, thanks for reading. This is just my vent to the world as I mutter my way through the life of aging with my once active folks who are now ornery, lonely, troubled, and at wit’s end with what to do next for 101 reasons.

I also thought I would publicly share that when I am old, I plan to be in the Senior Olympics. The event is still undetermined but I do plan to excel in whatever event chooses me. Betty White, an original Golden Girl, turned 98 about the time I wrote this post. The radio referred to her a sex symbol back in her day so I figure I can be a Senior Games athlete in my future. xoxo from cyber space

anonymous letters, Uncategorized

What’s That Stink?

Okay, a little dose of reality for you.

I’m sitting at a basketball game cheering on my kid. The game is being played at the local high school gymnasium. I sit in the bleachers with other parents and general spectators. It’s large, airy, open gym with high ceilings so you don’t have any lingering sweat or feet smells. It’s generally just fresh air circulating. Some attendees I know. Some I don’t.

Then all of a sudden it hits me out of nowhere. It’s a big stink. It lingers. It’s foul. Not like a dirty diaper but a stinky fart smell. I shrug and say to myself somebody is just nasty. A few minutes go by and boom it happens again.

It’s equally foul but may linger a bit longer. Hang time on point for that mystery farter! This time I look to my left and say is that you? The girl says no, is it you? Hell no, it’s not me! We conclude somebody is nasty around us and go back to watching the game.

And then it happens again. This time it’s the stench that makes your eyes water and we immediately and collectively put up our shirt to our mouth and nose to cover the nasty scent that is almost smoldering around us. We look around and mount suspicions.

To our right we notice another lady sitting close to a man covering her face. Was it her or was it the guy? We really don’t know but she leaves abruptly a few minutes later. Was it to check her drawers?

We also question if she ran off because she had to go shit herself in the proper place, the bathroom, or was she escaping from the guy that was sitting by her dropping silent but deadly farts?

We make eye contact with the guy. And he starts laughing. We start laughing and confirm you smell that over there too. Is it him and did he drive her off? It’s such a mystery. Who is the nasty one?

We will never know for sure but who in the heck goes to a kids basketball and repeatedly lets silent-but-ever-so-dangerous farts loose multiple times and stays to watch the game as if nothing is the matter?

In light of the crazy stink in my day, I giggled and reflected on my first book and one page in particular (the poop page) pictured above. Oh how this page makes me giggle about as much as poop, poop sounds in a public bathroom stall, poop stains in a commode and farts in general. Why?

Simply stated, girls don’t normally talk about it. You know poop. Shit. Caca. Dookie. The whole nine yards. It’s not politically correct and it also bothers my co-author. To the point we fought over inclusion of this page in our first book. The irony of which is, it’s one of the most liked pages! Check out The End for yourself and see what all the poop is about.

And while you at it, give this post a like if it made you giggle. I would like to see how
much my readers like a good laugh.

Now back to the story….How about some common decency for the others sharing the common air space in the gym? I obviously lived to tell about this story but I had to immediately change my clothes when I got home just in case the stink was lodged in my clothes. It was really so bad that spraying Lysol or perfume in the general vicinity would not have saved the day.

I will be sitting alone next week for sure. Until next time, smell ya later!