I totally dislike the word “elderly”. It connotes only “old age”. If a description of my age must be made, I prefer “senior citizen”. That suggests I have successfully reached the pinnacle of life’s experiences and have earned the right to be respected. In recognition of that, many benefits and perks are made available to senior citizens. There are discounts galore for meals, products, shows, and trips (although I never seek to take advantage of them, choosing for reasons of pride to pay full price instead). Senior citizens get to reside in apartments built specially for them and their dogs, where they can live in peace and quiet, free of annoyance from spirited younger adults and raucous children. If they are fortunate enough to have even just a slight disability, senior citizens can legally park in a handicap space within a few steps from the location of doctors, pharmacy, grocery store, lottery sales, restaurant, hair salon, bingo hall, Walmart, Costco, and other favorite haunts. Best of all, since most senior citizens are retired, they get to start Happy Hour at whatever time they please.

It is not, however, all fun and games being a senior citizen, especially with each passing year. I once casually asked a client how he was doing, and his response was “getting old is not for sissies”. I’m now learning the truth of that. Although perhaps somber and derived from feeling melancholy, I’ve decided to describe my current encounter with frailties of advancing age, so that this life experience is included with other stories of my life. In telling this story, however, I am taking a poetic turn. I present an original literary piece written by yours truly:

THE AGING OF ME

So many seasons have passed
but I know that won’t last,
because now I see
the aging of me.

I sit and remember the thrills
of my life, my successes and gains,
all now replaced by myriad pills,
aches and pains,
in the aging of me.

As the seasons turn
my legs move slower,
the hips are sorer,
the muscles are weaker,
the breaths become shorter,
during the aging of me.

I’ve lost much mobility,
but gratefully not yet senility.
I’ve become a dependent
in the aging of me,
and for that I truly regret,
knowing that in many ways,
it has been caused by my neglect.

I sit and remember
that month of September
when my marriage was blessed,
followed by years of happiness.
Yet I ask myself now
if I could have done more
to enrich its fullness.

I sit and remember my life with family,
a life that was lived so happily.
I sit and remember the passing of years,
the togetherness, the laugher,
and even some tears.

I sit and remember
that month of November
when my love lost her brave fight,
followed by my loneliness
in the passing days and nights,
and now even years,
during the aging of me.

I still see the seasons
and I don’t know the reason,
when so many I’ve known
are no longer here.
I sit and remember
what they meant to me,
and pray that I face my future
without fear.

And when my seasons end
I hope to be remembered
as I once was,
before the aging of me.