When I was a kid someone who was 65 was toast. The next stop was "the Home." Of course back then there were not that many "Homes." Now there is an Assisted Living on every corner.
What's happening? My grandmother held my hand and squeezed it as she looked up at me from her nursing home bed, "I need to go home." She did not mean the overused word "home" as it gets attached to "nursing." She was referring to "that home not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."
We both knew what she meant so I squeezed back and whispered, "I know grandma, but I hate to lose you." That's when she said words to me that I have used many times. This time the grip of her hand became even tighter as she said to me, "Boy I don't want to outlive myself."
She was 92. She died the next year. I figure she "outlived" herself by about 3 years.
Why am I reflecting on all this? I registered for Medicare last week. Milepost 65 is now in the rear view mirror. I did not even slow down as I pasted the marker. How can I be going this fast at 65? From my viewpoint as a child a 65 year old was a slow-poke...ready for the farm...worn out...spent.
How much time will there be between 65 and that time I come up against "outliving myself?" One never knows. They tell me that 65 is the new 45. We'll see.
My friends in AA have the best attitude when it comes to all this age and time stuff: "One day at a time." As I pasted the milepost I wonder if I remembered that there have been 23,725 of those days?
OK...it's time to go home but alas this time I simply mean the house in which I dwell....thankfully.