The twilight years are a challenge

I've learned that growing old is the process of slowly giving up things in your life that you care about.  I've also learned that if you dwell on that, you will ruin what little bit of life you have left.  I'm not saying you shouldn't fix things that can be fixed, but many things in life are unavoidable.

You get to the place where you've lost your parents, aunts, uncles; there's nothing that you could do to prevent that, because dying is a natural part of life.  But it's still a loss to you.

I walked at least three miles daily for forty years, often with my husband by my side.  When my knees gradually decided to quit and gave me too much pain, I walked slower, and not as far as I used to.  That worked for ten or twelve years, until I couldn't do it anymore.  I did get a knee replacement and was able to take my walks for about two years after that; then it got to painful again, and my right knee hurt too... but I wasn't about to get another knee replacement when the one I already had was hurting just as much.  I still miss my long walks, but I don't dwell on it.  I do get tired of the pain at times.

I always used to have at least one Jersey cow on the place... not because we needed five gallons of milk a day, but because I love Jersey cows.  When the cow had her calf and was giving lots of milk, I'd buy three or four baby Holstein calves and bottle feed them the extra milk.  Oh, how I loved those times, watching the calves buck and jump and play; but I finally admitted to myself that I had no business doing it any more.  For one thing, my knees would hardly let me squat down practically underneath the cow to milk her.  Now the only livestock we have consists two cats and a dog.  Thank God for pets!

My husband lost his hearing and now has cochlear implants, and we are so thankful for that, but the implants are not like the hearing he was born with by a long shot.  He really misses his country music, and he tells me people don't sound like themselves.  

Both of us have lost a lot of strength in our bodies.  I used to be able to pick up a fifty pound bag of cattle feed and pour it into a barrel.  And my husband, in his twenties, was one of the strongest men I have ever known.  I never saw him lose an arm-wrestling match except one time when he lost deliberately as he winked at me so I'd know what was happening, and let the muscled-up inlaw win, because he didn't want to make him feel bad.  

We used to attend lots of tractor shows, hauling one or another of the classic tractors Cliff had painted so we could ride in the Parade of Power.  We're not much for travel any more; Cliff says it's all he can do to keep the car on the road.  He really has to pay close attention, especially on the freeway and in large cities.  

What got me started on this subject was something that happened to me this morning.  I was on the computer reading my usual morning surfing when I realized that there was something like a sparkling halo on the left side of my left eye, blurring my vision something awful.  It stayed like that for at least an hour, making it difficult to read.  I mentioned it to Cliff, and we discussed it.  Then I googled it (I know, I know... never do that) and found it could be a detached retina.  I thought, Oh no!  I need to be able to read!  It's the only thing I do that doesn't hurt!

But that was two hours ago, and now I'm fine.  For now, at least.  And I just now realized I could always listen to audiobooks if I went blind.  

Now?  Right this instant I'm thinking how silly it was to worry about reading, when I'd be unable to see where I was going.  I couldn't have my garden.  I wouldn't know if I was about to step in the grandson's dogs' poop; I couldn't watch the Chiefs play football (although if they played like they did last night, that might be a blessing). 

Sad but true:  Old age is not for sissies.