My mother celebrated her 90th birthday last month. It really got me thinking about how we throw around the terms “old folks,” “elderly,” “getting up there,” etc. That is definitely not my mother. She is in great health, lives by herself a couple of miles from my husband and I, still drives, and takes care of others in her condominium neighborhood who are 10-15 years younger than herself. She’ll get a call from her across-the street neighbor asking if she would take her to Shaw’s. Yep, in the car and off to Shaw’s. Another neighbor calls on my mom to accompany her to doc appointments. Does my mom ever say no? Nope. Never.
Can anyone say they’ve had a best friend for 90 years? That’s ninety years. Yep, Mom and Barb still chat every couple months, and the stories they reminisce about that I overhear are just too funny.
At the beginning of the pandemic, before we were all buttoned up in our homes, Mom, at 87 years old, had knee replacement surgery, and after 2 weeks of the VNA physical therapist visiting her post-surgery, that was to be no more, so I took over as her personal physical therapist. I went over every day, and we’d lie on her bed and we’d start off with whatever the first exercise was on her list. I’d say, “Up, 2, 3, 4, 5; down, 2, 3, 4, 5. Up, 2, 3, 4, 5; down, 2, 3, 4, 5.” Over and over and over again. It wasn’t just “up.” It was more like “uuuuuup.” And then we’d start laughing and laughing all the while getting the exercises done. It turned plain old PT into a fun time! At her post-op appointment, her doc commented that she was the oldest (there’s that word again), healthiest patient he had ever done surgery on! What a compliment to my mom! He then asked her when she wanted her other knee done, to which she promptly replied, “Now.” And it happened soon after that.
My mother was born during the Great Depression. She remembers little things from childhood but, thankfully, wasn’t as affected by the depression as others were across the country due to her age. But she does remember walking up to the creamery for her family’s ration of butter and eggs, and collecting metal for the war effort. And one of her most memorable stories happened when she was in grade school, which was just around the corner from her house. The school caught fire in the dead of winter, and everyone was evacuated safely though without coats, hats, boots. She remembers looking over her shoulder on the way out the door to see the curtains in the gym going up in flames! Her father happened to be driving down Main Street at that exact time and glanced over to School Street and wondered to himself why all the kids were outside without their winter coats!
It’s hard to reconcile the terms “old,” “elderly,” “aged” when my mom is going strong. Yet we at times flippantly use those terms to describe friends and family members in their 70s and 80s who are sick or suffering from dementia or dying. I often wonder what my mom thinks when we use those terms, and I’m noticing myself more and more trying to downplay the age as opposed to the condition because, to me, my mom is not old, elderly or aged.
Is life fair? No, we all know life is not fair. We take the good with the bad and keep on plugging away hoping to reach whatever magic age number we choose happy and healthy. And I hope to follow in my mom’s footsteps.
Happy 90th Birthday, Mom!! You’re the best. And Happy New Year!
