Another Sunset To Witness

 

 

I thought a lot after writing and publishing my essay about old age, about old people, about the fear of growing old. I thought about the inevitable, about humiliation, about illness, about frail bodies and minds.

But then, my perspective shifted, like looking through a child’s kaleidoscope into the light.  Suddenly, the same pieces formed an entirely different picture. And I realized that while getting old is still a bother, it is also a privilege. 

Yes, maybe you are losing your marbles and the control of your bladder, but you can still see your family around you, growing and flourishing.

You need help to walk to the nearest park and your vision is a little blurry, but you can still smell the freshly cut grass in the morning, listen to the birds singing like crazed gramophones.  You can still fell the warmth of the sun soothing your weary bones and the deep lines etched across your face.

There are days when you forget what month it is, perhaps even what century. Yet you can still enjoy today, with all its moments, happy or sad.

And while your hands are old and veiny, mapped with a constellation of age spots and trembling just a little, you can still caress the cheeks of your children and grandchildren. You can still hold the hand of the one you have loved for decades, equally old and bony, while watching a movie, even if you forget its name the moment it ends. The memory of that touch will linger on your papery skin.

And as long as your nightstand still holds, beside the medication, eye drops and an array of face creams, a stack of books, a dried flower your daughter gave you, and books, notebooks and jars full of pens and as long as a cat still sleeps beside your head, chasing butterflies in his dreams, you are not giving up. You still have another sunset to witness, another tear to cry, another pumpkin-spice coffee to enjoy.

For all the small pleasures that remain, however many or however few, life is still worth living.

So, I understand now.

When I see their ancient bodies and hear their croaked voices, I won’t ask myself What are they still doing here? Because I understand now.

For every leaf that falls, every creek that murmurs, every blade of grass, every second and every eternity, it is worth it.