Growing Old

On the brink of sixty I stand , the start of another decade . Peering into that golden age of seniors , With it’s wild perks and concessions, that some may say demeaning, as is with incontinence .

Growing older am definitely, but not necessarily sage. I still feel the same as in the 50s, maybe even as in my 20s, if my memory don’t play truant . My steps falter a sway I have, some call it sexy , others find it vexing, but I just try to hold that balance .

At times am startled by that mirror, when a glimpse I catch in passing. Who is that stranger in my room, with hair so white and a sagging face ? My heart clenches for a moment, and then I say , well that’s the circle of life .

Practice the smile for the photographs they say, it helps hide them wrinkles, but before the click of the perfect shot, the bones ache, the muscles cramp, turning the smile into a grimace . Running up the stairs no longer suited, I take it slow, one by one , only to forget when at the top , why I climbed it .

In the voice , once strong now with a quaver , I utter cryptic words of wisdom at times. Some call it profound, others say it’s drivel , but I still speak my mind . My hands once steady now shaky, the letters I write are no longer legible, but much like a doctor’s scribble, and needless to add, the reading glasses are my new best friend – surely am growing old .

I maybe different, turning into an ‘ old dear ‘, but a wise woman I would like to believe. Like the aged wine that holds the flavour of time, I am the repository of untold wealth Of knowledge and experience gained over those many years of life. And when I leave my earthly abode, a legacy of love and compassion, I leave as gift to this world.