Barbara J. Hamby

How Does it Feel to be Elderly

I don’t remember wondering at any time during my first fifty years how it would feel to be “elderly.” Of course I did think that, if I were lucky, I’d live to old age. Also, the definition of “old age” or “elderly” somehow sneaked up a few years with every birthday.

Every year now, when I spend time with my sisters, I’m very aware that I’m the eldest, but I also note that, with only eight years separating the four of us, none is young. The presence of any of our children emphasizes the span between youth and the so-called golden years.

Yesterday a bubbly niece spent the afternoon with us. She complains about her symptoms of menopause and the idiosyncrasies of the middle school children she attempts to teach. Her hormones are not in sync with theirs. Her wonderful sense of humor will save her from serious mental damage, I’m sure. She complained that some audio-visual equipment she uses had been set up so that her back was to the class when she operated it. She had to have it rearranged because “you don’t’ turn your back on eleven year old kids.”

Her energy level contrasts with that of her mother and aunts and reminds me how much older we are. When I’m with my own children, I notice the same differences. I don’t have grandchildren to further emphasize age gaps, but almost everyone I know does have them and I spend time with some of these children.

How does it feel to be elderly? Maybe not exactly the same for everyone; I feel pride in the wisdom I believe I’ve accumulated, but sadness for the limited amount I’ve probably actually learned. In my joints, I feel pain from time to time. Pain annoys in other body parts also. Emotional pain for what might have been, or what could have been rears up at inopportune moments. But all in all, I’m glad to be here.