A few months ago, I traveled to Florida, and it got me thinking. I’ve been visiting the Sunshine State my whole life. I can remember my grandparents parading me around their Senior complex like a prized possession. I can taste the meals my grandma taught me how to cook in her kitchen. I was lucky enough to accompany my Aunt and Uncle as their babysitter on a few family vacations. And surprisingly enough, I can even recall a few bits of my epic Spring Break trips. But always dear to me was when my husband and I took our children to Walt Disney World.
It's changed from Baby Oil to SPF 50. Bikinis to tankinis. Carry-ons filled with kid friendly entertainment items to now just my computer. I’ve sat in pools amongst senior citizens chattering about the good ole days and way too warm kiddie pools. Now you’ll find me in a quiet, shaded corner.
This most recent trip was two-fold—first bit was relaxing with my husband after a very long football season. We relaxed on the beach, ate delicious meals with friends, rode bikes on the boardwalk and it was really nice.
The second part was visiting with my mom and sister to catch up on quality time, too. Unfortunately, my mom's husband was not faring too well, so lending a helping hand was the priority. Caring for someone who isn’t well is both physically and mentally exhausting. On our drive across the state, I planned to switch from relaxing to supporting mode. Not so much, as cars were traveling 85-90 mph jockeying for position until the next sudden traffic stop. Feeling overwhelmed, I slid over to the middle lane and that’s when it hit me—this drive is just like my life.
During that five-hour drive I noticed everyone, everything and everywhere seemed to have changed, including me. The roads are bigger, wider and more complicated. Gas and toll prices are so much higher. I know what you’re thinking: Allison, you've changed and are older too. But I’m not talking about another birthday candle kind of old. I’m talking about the getting older that changes your life and can complicate things, too.
The four days spent with my mom and her husband gave me a front-row seat to that kind of getting older. I’m not here to say it’s all doom and gloom, but definitely a jarring wake-up call. One day you’re scheduling golf matches and dinners out. A few months later its doctor appointments, trips to the bathroom and eating home because it’s just too much effort to leave the house.
I see tiny glimpses of this happening in my life. I’ve taken to going to bed earlier and enjoying waking before the sun rises. That means dinners are earlier too. And if I am being honest, sometimes lunch happens at 11 o’clock. That’s what I felt on that Florida highway, sliding over to let those rushing past me have a clear path.
I’ve been telling myself I'm choosing this new “not caring to keep up” life philosophy. But just maybe it is age. My knees creak. I find myself asking people to repeat themselves more than before. I often don’t “get” the lingo used by the younger crowd. My cellphone, computer and television are far too complicated. I’ve even caught myself saying, “When I was a kid…”
Yet, I still believe I am a long way from what I witnessed. A man on the front line—one who sprinted between life as a real estate attorney, college professor, golf and tennis player and his families. Now, he shuffles with a walker to sit on his lanai quietly watching the golfers play past. He seems content and perhaps peaceful, or is that what accepting your fate looks like to someone who cannot comprehend what’s around the bend?
As the old saying goes, “Don’t judge someone else until you’ve been in their shoes.” Except, I know today, I don’t want to be in his shoes, but expect neither did he. I’m baffled why so many people leave this earth from disease and sickness. It shakes my deep belief that being a good and kind human secures you a dignified and peaceful death. I know dying too soon is heart crushing, yet it seems staying here on earth too long seems to be just a different awful kind of the exact same thing.
Or perhaps it is just the wisdom that comes with age. When we’re younger we’re concerned with longevity. As we get older it tends to shift to being more about the quality of our life rather than the quantity. The reality is that I want both, elusive as that may be.
searching for a middle ground,
A little thing you should know: My mom’s husband passed away just a few exhausting, emotionally difficult and painful months after my trip. Though incredibly complicated, he was a father figure to me for more than half my lifetime. During my last visit we spent hours together finishing a jigsaw puzzle. Adding yet another memory to my Sunshine State album.