Getting old stinks

And no, I am not complaining about myself. I, though older, still feel pretty darn young and spry.

However, after having lunch with my dear, wonderful 97-year-old grandmother, I realize that being 97 is just a bit of a drag. As she shuffled off to the dining hall at her assisted living, her stooped body pushing her walker forward, she said to herself "Now, stand up straight Virginia..." but the words were as far as that desire went. Standing up straight isn't an option any more.

We had a lovely lunch, which she insisted on buying for me, and if her memory would just click back into shape, she really would be just as sharp as the day I was born. But those minute to minute details are just lost somewhere in translation. That portion of the brain is like one of those windmills at Putt Putt... every once in a while, information will get through and hit the mark, but most bounce back, deflected from any permanent sticking point. I remind her of where my folks are (Italy), of how many kids I have (4) and what I did yesterday. We repeat that a couple of times during each visit. I ask her questions about the days she remembers clearly, back when memory was just a given. She still has a great sense of humor and thankfully doesn't have much pain. But her days consist mostly of meals and sitting in her chair. She has made it clear that though her life has been so full and wonderful, she is ready for the day that it comes to an end. Not in a morose way, but just accepting.

So here is to living our lives to the fullest with each day we have. Realize that a sound mind and body are truly gifts that we regularly take for granted. Love you, grandma.