The doctor told us that the medication had been prescribed to help us reach old age. Then he paused, looked at us and said, “Well it looks like you’ve made it.”
The moment was in some ways jaw dropping. Had the doctor truly just called us both old?
Then we couldn’t help but smile at what he said.
We made it.
We have never really put a number on getting “old.” Getting old to us has become generally around five years older than we are.
It was the doctor who randomly labeled us as “old” by saying we “made it” at 75 years old. But that is fine. We’ll take it.
We have repeated those words to each other for weeks now. “We made it.” And believe it or not those words have been a fun source of inspiration to us.
Being told “We made it” has been a reminder to take time to smell the roses, get our paperwork in order, and put a priority on visiting with old friends. That is why we were in out of state last week. That trip checked off three bucket list items; what a week that was.
While we stayed out of tourist areas and off the beaten path, we both were at different times referred to as “Auntie” or “Uncle.” These are both respectful local references to our seniority and we relished it.
Last winter when we visited grandchildren who live on an army base, we were the celebrated visiting grandparents to all the kids in the neighborhood.
You see, military dependents live in a world of youth. Most military folks retire around 40, so having visitors who are 75 does spark some curiosity. I had to explain my wrinkles, and my husband’s Santa Claus beard. I told them “age spots” were like freckles that you get awarded when you’ve had a lot of fun in your life. And that is true, I think.
It seems to us that getting old should be celebrated. With all the aches, pains, wrinkles, and new knees it is a privilege, a gift.
Our thoughts more than once have turned to our friends who did not have the privilege of growing old.
My aviator husband has recalled friends who crashed during training or missions at sea. I remembered a high school friend who barely made 20 in Vietnam. My uncle who died in Germany also didn’t see 21 years. Uncle Billy never even got to vote.
We recalled friends who were taken far too young by brain tumors and Parkinsons. And there was one who died at his desk in the Pentagon on 9-11. Thoughts of our dear friend Eileen, who died one week before they were scheduled to start their long-anticipated RV traveling life, motivated us to take that recent vacation.
I recently had the joy of rocking the granddaughter of a dear friend who did not live long enough to rock the child herself. I hope the baby enjoyed the hugs I relayed to her as I whispered stories about her cool grandma in her ear.
It is our time to tell the stories we were told and make sure the photos in the albums and boxes are labeled. And we need to explain to our offspring why getting old doesn’t scare us. After all we know where we are going, Lord willing.
Are we ready to give up now that we are “old”? Heck no. We are shooting for “very old,” “ancient” and “fossils.”
Besides that, I’ve decided to start piano lessons.
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