Vulnerability of old age

October 22nd, 2024

Getting old is shit. Getting very old — seventy-something and beyond — is even more shit, for both the person getting older and the person next to that whole situation. There is a cruel vulnerability in becoming more fragile and anxious and dealing with expanding deteriorating dexterity. I know all the shit about that being the natural order of things, about making peace with what cannot be changed. All that comes from those still in possession of all their mental and physical faculties and the ability to hold an absurd and annoying secret — that it won't happen to them. Or if it happens, they will be ready with full acceptance and understanding and maybe even a sly smile. Bullshit.

It is painfully humbling to help an elderly person, especially when that person is dear and close to me, to navigate all those things that just a week ago, or a year ago, she could do herself without much of a problem. And it is difficult for me to do it with detachment and calmness, which is always helpful. For me, as humbling as it is, there is also a clear anger about this spectacle. Anger directed at whom? I am not sure. It may be directed at the person getting older and at their irreversible deterioration. Could be at me, since what I see and deal with today, will be my lot in twenty-thirty years. All this is not a burden yet. It is just a slight annoyance and a slight inconvenience. I know it will get worse, sooner or later. My anger and rage will only get worse as well. I am a long way from accepting the natural progress of things. And I will not be quiet and forgiving about it.