Thoughts on Turning 80

Still fighting!

We don’t like to talk about it. We kid about it, but avoid sharing our deeper fears. Some of us are struggling with physical limitations. Others are in early stages of dementia or lost to Alzheimer’s. We look old. We are old. Sometimes we joke about forgetting names of people we know, places we have been, books we have read, movies we have seen. “Give me a minute, it will come to me.” Sometimes it pops into our heads later. Other times we forget that we forgot.

The elephant in the room is that we, who once thought we were hip and had all of the answers, are now elderly. Many of my friends are octogenarians, and I just joined them. According to AI (what’s that?), the lucky among us exhibit cognitive function and memory comparable to that of a younger person. We may have slower cognitive decline and a more resilient brain compared to some of our peers, along with being blessed with mental sharpness in later life. That sounds pretty good, but doesn’t negate the fact that we look and feel pretty old.

I have a friend who, like me and my husband, enjoys watching Jeopardy. While we often remark, “I used to know that” or occasionally are amazed by young contestants who don’t know who the answer to questions like: “What was the first diet soda made by Coca Cola that no longer exists?” (Tab, of course). Our friend has a pretty good strategy. She tapes the show and pauses it before each answer to see if the extra time enables her to get more correct responses. I’m sure it works to an extent, but there are so many answers to which we sigh, “I used to know that.”

We dread bumping into someone our age. Do we recognize them, especially after several years have passed? If we do, do we remember their name? Several months ago, I looked straight at an acquaintance I have known for 40 years and didn’t see her. She looked older, of course, but I instantly remembered her when she came up to introduce herself. That was kind of her.

Several of my friends have lost their sense of calendar, forgetting some appointments and double-booking others. I’m lucky I can still use the calendar app on my phone, which I rely on with great frequency. Unfortunately, some of my peers struggle with technology and find the world in which we live too complicated and the doctor’s visits too frequent to keep track of them all.

I remember being sort-of old. When AARP sent me an application when I turned fifty, I tore it up. When I was old enough for senior discounts, my pride kept me from claiming them. Turning seventy was such a big deal that I wrote a book about it. Now, there is no “sort of” – I’m actually old, although AARP magazine (bless their soul) calls me a “Superager.” Younger friends and my kids take my arm to help me down a curb. I hate it, but I also need it. My balance isn’t great and I have had two recent falls, one outside in May and another in my kitchen six weeks later. Luckily, I didn’t break anything but I could have. My mother broke her hip falling in her apartment when she was ninety. So far, I hurt my shoulder and knee. Nothing some physical therapy can’t fix, right?

Woodstock is far in my generation’s rear-view mirror. I long to be the brown-eyed girl with long hair riding on the back of my husband’s motorcycle. Or the young mom of three little kids playing with them on the beach. Or even the grandmother who could sit on the floor, sing, play with, and read to my grandkids when they were little ones. But my grandchildren are off to college or middle and high school, crazy busy with their activities, as they should be. They look at me like their little old Gramma, which I am. Just hoping to hang in their long enough to see the youngest, who will turn twelve in December, graduate high school. And maybe a few college graduations? Can’t help being greedy. Being 80 is a blessing when I consider the other option.

Life is still pretty good!