We grow old I mean. Well, if we are lucky, we grow old. Our hair turns gray, our wrinkles have wrinkles, we forget the present and remember the past.
I work with old people.
I now attend an "old" church.
I'm surrounded by the aged.
Of course the problem is that when you are surrounded by the elderly you cannot help but see your future...
It's not really a pretty picture.
There is the lonely, the lost, the distressed.
Some can't see.
Other's can't hear.
And yet they still act like a bunch of high schoolers from an episode of Glee (without all the singing and dancing).
Sometimes they are mean.
I am witness to one dear sweet Christian lady who is slowly losing her mind and it hurts my heart. No amount of reassurance helps. Kind words are softly smiled at and swept away with the delicate wave of her hand. Her blue eyes look into mine with an earnestness I have never seen before and I know in my heart of hearts that she truly believes that someone is entering her apartment and stealing her clothes...while she's home.
My dear, sweet little Peggy. She's lost her keys (they are on the door step). She lost her purse (it's on the sofa). She's going for a walk (without her cane).
And as I watch her toddle around and listen as she calls me dear, I realize that I will probably not be as sweet or as kind when I am 90. I'll be cranky. I'll be moody. No one will think me sweet or precious.
I'm growing older and every now and then I feel a tingle of regret for things undone, for trips not taken, and words that were left unspoken.
There is so much to say...and so little time.