I recently went through my cellphone to listen to old voice mail messages.
The first one to pop up was a year and a half old and I was
wondering why I kept it. When it came on there was a long pause before a voice
came on and I knew immediately remembered the message and why I saved it. It
was my friend Richard. He was 97 at the
time and I remembered clearly the line “I am getting close to my expiration
date.”
Hearing his voice was like encountering a ghost because Richard
died shortly after that call. He was very active up until the end. I have always
wondered if those who live a very long life—into their nineties or beyond—know
when the end is near. Richard did.
I am now 66 and in very good health. At this moment, it does
not appear that my expiration date is just around the corner. However, I do
ponder what life will be like in my eighties and nineties. My hope is to live
that long, as long if my luck holds out and nothing unexpected occurs. I have
three role models for living a long, fulfilling, and independent life into my eighties
and nineties. Richard is one of them and my parents are the other two role
models.
Looking at your parents for hints about what your future
holds is only natural. You know them best and your share their DNA.
Looking to Richard as a role model is more unusual because
we never met in person and that voicemail was the first time I ever heard his
voice. When I returned his call that was
the first time we ever spoke to each other. We had both been members of an
online running club and got to know each other through a chatroom feature on
the site. Richard, our friend Cynthia
and I were in the chatroom frequently and exchanged stories of our runs and
other adventures on the site. We did this for about seven or eight years until
the website folded. After that we exchanged email addresses and continued our
conversations.
I remember when I first started running, I was trying to do
1,000 miles in one year, which averages out to be about 20 miles a week. I
remember when I looked at the website at the end of February that year, I was
very proud of my total miles run. That was… until I noticed that Richard had
logged more miles than I had and he was over 90 years old at the time!
Richard was impressed that I did trail races on tough
terrain and later ultra marathons, but I was more than 30 years his junior, so
he impressed me more. You see Richard competed in master track and field events
in his nineties. He did the 100-yard dash, long jump, 200-yard dash, and other
events, often placing first or second. While I ran in my fifties and sixties, I
kept wondering when I would be too old to run and compete. Richard was my model
and taught me that I could be an athlete for the rest of my life.
My father who died at what I now feel was a young age of 83 also modeled aging for me. He never stopped moving, even after he retired. He worked in his yard and garage nonstop. When I had a project in my backyard, whether it was building a rock wall or taking down a tree, he was there even in his late seventies. He encouraged focusing on family and making the most of any holiday spent together. He was my hero and I thought that he was invincible. I thought that he would live into his nineties. Yet cancer had other plans. By the time it was detected the cancer had spread and was at stage four. I believe that in this case his strength and sprightliness in his eighties masked the symptoms of cancer until it was too late.
I remember two things distinctly from his battle. Coming out
of the doctor’s office and he calmly said “Sometimes there is no hiding, and
death is going to get you.” He had accepted his prognosis, but his family
had not and we pushed for aggressive treatment to fight back. I think he
acquiesced to that only because he loved us.
The second was visiting him in the hospital and he was in so much pain
and uncomfortable flailing in his bed. I knew the end was near. Yet the next
day when I went to take him home for his final days, I was shocked that he was
up and about like he was ready to do a chore in the yard.
Yet that miracle day was just that, a single day, and cancer
got him in the end. But he never seemed old in his entire life. Even for the
last few months he was not old but tired and weak.
My mother, who is still alive at the age of 98, is the one
that I have studied the most. That is because I have had a front row seat for
her aging process. She is a tiny old Italian woman, who is now maybe 4’6” and
about 90 pounds. She just keeps going despite some major bumps in her health
that might have done in others. She has a feistiness that I am sure Father Time
is annoyed with.
She had a bad fall when she was in her eighties and living
alone in her home. She survived but it was a wake-up call to my siblings and me
that she would need to be watched more carefully. We eventually sold her house
and moved her to a one-floor condo in her late eighties.
She was very independent and was living by herself even
after she was no longer able to drive. We made sure that we saw her often
during the week and called her every day. We had someone come in during the
week to help clean the condo and watch her. If she needed something she would
call. The job of taking her to church fell to me. I saw how the church
community really helped her stay younger.
However, this last year a bad fall and extended time in a
rehab facility took its toll. She was unable to take care of herself and needed
a full-time aid. I can see the loss of energy and strength every time I see her,
which is at least once a week. She always had little aches and pains, but they
are now much more acute. They also do not go away with a couple of Tylenol. She
lost eyesight in her left eye, and her hearing is also poor. She now needs a
walker to get around.
She is not as engaged in the conversations as she used to
be. It has happened very fast. At first she fought the idea of having an aide, but
she now seems to have accepted that she needs one. She has lost almost all of
her independence and must rely on her kids and her aide. I cringe now because
when I am at one of her many doctor appointments, I now do most of the
listening and talking. I am uncomfortable with this because my mother was a
nurse and has more medical knowledge than I do. Yet she has let her kids take
the lead on her health care.
I embrace my responsibilities to her, as do my siblings, because
we are so happy that she is still in our lives. Yet I can’t help but think at
those moments: How will I be at this age? How will I handle this loss of my
independence? What will my final months be like? Will I be a burden to my kids?
It is the loss of independence and relying on others that petrifies
me. This winter was a frigid and snowy one in New Jersey and I was shoveling my
driveway and walkway after getting almost two feet of snow. I have no snow
blower. As I was out there in the snow I paused from my shoveling and thought
to myself “Will I still be doing this in my eighties?” Is my first
concession to aging is getting a snow blower? Or is it just hiring someone?
My mother’s first concession to getting old was selling her
large house. Though that was not much of a concession because my father had
maintained the house and the yard. The major concession was giving up her car.
That is a major loss of independence. She once told me that she did not really
feel the aging process until she was in her eighties. She told my sister
recently that she was not sure she will live long enough to attend my
daughter’s wedding this year. I wondered if she was like my friend Richard who
sensed that his “expiration date” was near.
I do a lot of manual labor around the house and run seven
miles or more every day. Yet I know that while I am in excellent shape now, it
will end someday. What I also learned from all three of my role models is that they
were very active until the end.
They were physically always on the move and mentally always
engaged. They also were surrounded by friends and family. I am emulating that
model. I not only do not have a snow blower, I do not have a leaf blower. I
believe engaging in physical activity is a way of staying young.
My mother is still teaching me lessons on aging with grace every
day. Every time I take her to church or
to one of her many doctors I get a lesson. I observe the loss of mobility. I
see her struggle to do things that once came easily, like walking to a car. That
now takes great strength for her to accomplish. She is still fueled by the
determination and perseverance that she has displayed throughout her life.
For now, I am ignoring morbid thoughts of my final days and
focusing on the lessons all three taught me. With a positive mindset, staying
physically active, and surrounding yourself with good people you can have a
happy, fulfilling life even in your eighties and nineties. I’ve also learned
the importance of living in the present with an eye to the future and not dwelling
on the past. Even with my mother’s recent decline they all lived lives with
very few restrictions on things that they could do.
When my “expiration date” draws near I am attuned enough to
my body that there is a good chance I will know it. Until then I will keep pushing myself like my
three role models.
