Growing Less Young By The Day

I still remember when my father told us that his ad agency had hired a kid to write copy.  At last, somebody around my age to chat with on my next visit.   At the time, my father was in his early 40’s and we saw age distinctions differently. It turned out that by kid my father meant someone in his late 20’s — which at my age seemed practically middle-aged. Who’s old and who’s young depends largely on how old you are.   Someone in her seventies doesn’t seem as old to me as it once did  — especially when my spot in the 50’s lane grows more and more temporary.  And for some time now, I’ve been sharing hours with family members  in their 90’s and late 80’s, who are aging more gracefully than I might ever have imagined. Their secret: loving, competent, hard-working caregivers who do the bending and the folding and the cooking and the driving.  Kudos to caregivers who help gently and provide encouragement and joy through the day.   Oh, how they coax and make the word “no” throw in the towel.  My grandparents never had caregivers, but I’m so glad my parents and mother-in-law do.