The Gold in the Golden Years
One of the blogs I follow touched on this theme this week and brought this post to mind. I needed to remember this right now, so thought someone else might also.
From the poem Time on the blog: poetry, photos, and musings, oh my – by lea
Whatever time is left
Use it up
Wear it down
Regardless how thin
The fabric becomes
It is rich with the sounds
Salty with tears and
This excerpt from Lea’s poem describes my life at seventy-six perfectly.
On Wednesday, my ninety-one year old friend Barbara, who is on a walker from a painful hip surgery, admitted her despair from feeling useless. But as we shared lattes with a younger friend, who lives with a slow growing cancer, we laughingly imagined walkers like baby walkers and crinoline skirts to hide them, perhaps even small secret porta potties built in. Then, in the parking lot as we attempted to help Barbara into the van, somehow she got stuck bent over half way in. We tried to gently boost her backside without hurting her…
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