Thoughts on Growing Old

Some things happened this week that have me thinking.

A lot of you know that I lost a hundred pounds three years ago. I had to go quite far in order to do it, and I’m proud to say that I have kept 90 of those pounds off. It’s taken great personal effort, has cost me a lot, and requires constant vigilance (to quote good old Mad-Eye Moody), but it’s been worth it.  Here’s the thing, though: being okay in the weight category is not the same thing as being in shape.

At my age, I hadn’t put much thought into that. My life has been very busy and very fulfilling, and while it’s true that I haven’t been exercising like I used to, I didn’t think much about it. At least, I didn’t until this weekend.

I went to spend several days with my grandmother and her sister. Both are in their 90′s. Both are  very intelligent, independent women – my grandmother fought for women’s rights her whole life, my great aunt was in the Battle of the Bulge – and both have inspired me with their strength and wisdom. However, a few years ago, that changed.

Grandma gave up golfing, bowling, and all her other social activities. I’m really not sure why she did this. The effect it had, however, showed within a year’s time, and was horrifying. Her abilities to function and to think clearly began to slide.

This is a woman who used to fill out the New York Times crossword puzzle in ink because she never made a mistake. A woman who could sit there reading a book during Jeopardy and answer every single question before the contestants. A woman who, my entire life, could be called if an answer to something wasn’t readily found. She was my personal Google. She could carry mattresses, traveled all the time, lived alone quite comfortably.

She can’t anymore.

Her memory is gone. Her communication skills are gone. Her balance is gone. The downhill slide since she stopped doing things is so shocking that I’m still rocking from it. And now, more than ever, the contrast between her and my great aunt is incredible.

See, Aunt Gladys was a nurse in World War II, and one of the things that she learned from that experience was this: the wounded soldiers who were forced to get up and move around, even just to pee, were always the ones who healed fastest and best. Always. So she made it a personal goal to walk every day, about five miles. Every single day, rain or shine, whether or not she was well.

She is 91, and she’s kept that promise to herself.  The result is that she has not entered that downward slide. She is where she was when my grandmother STOPPED moving around and began hers. Mentally and phsyically, my great aunt is the same. Sure, her skin’s more wrinkled; she’s still active, still reads, still produces conversation that does not make one wince in horror.

This observation isn’t new. Medical experts have known for years that the longer an elderly person continues to do things for him or herself, the longer that person maintains mental faculties – even in extreme cases of Alzheimer’s and the like. So what does this mean to me?

It means I need to get back on the treadmill.

If my Aunt Gladys can do this, so can I. I have no idea if I’ll live as long as these two amazing ladies have, but I want to do it like my aunt has – not my grandma.  I always wanted to be like my grandma before. Right now… not so much. I don’t want to be the one repeating myself over and over and over, or suddenly producing weirdly racist ideas, or “remembering” things that happened five minutes ago completely wrong. I don’t want to give my loved ones grief.

So today, I spent time on the exercise bike and ball, and did some pushups. Nothing much. It didn’t take hours out fo my time. My writing schedule is uninterrupted – but by doing this, by remembering to do this daily, I hope to reap the benefits. Not just today, but in my future.

I miss my grandma. Who she was. She isn’t dead, but this slow slide is like grieving her loss daily.

I am all thinked out now. Back to writing before I make myself cry.

Tagged as: confessions, Family, grandma, Health, learning