Skip to main content

Realistic Thoughts On Aging, Death, and Dying

My grandmother died when she was 88. She lived a good, fun life. She and her sister were both widowed in the 1950s, so they became roomies. When my grandmother passed away, I moved into the house. My great aunt had planned to move into an apartment, but I pointed out that made no sense. She had lived in this house for over 30 years. All of her stuff was here. Her life was based in and around the house. No need to change it. She worried that I would be bothered by living with an old woman...but I assured her that our schedules would most likely be different enough that we wouldn't get in each other's way. Besides, she was family...and one of the few relatives I actually liked!

She was 85 when we became roomies. At that age, most of her friends were in their 40s. Aunt Ann could still party with the best of them. She was seriously a lot of fun. All of my friends loved her.

As with anyone who lives that long, and has paid attention to life, she had learned a few things and was more than happy to pass along what she had learned. She had a plethora of great stories...many which contradicted the more sterile family stories my dad had told me.

My aunt was born in 1905 and had watched the world change so much. She saw radio, TV, cars, man landing on the moon, the civil rights movement, 2 world wars...and so much more. Her best stories were about Prohibition. She had so many great stories about speakeasies and illegal drinking. Apparently, her hubby, a one time pro baseball player and bowling champ, made the best bathtub gin, and supplied most of the surrounding area with it. Like I said...colorful family.

As my auntie was nearing her 90th birthday, she imparted to me the most realistic advice on aging. "DON'T LIVE THIS LONG!" I was a bit surprised. I thought that living forever was the goal of most people. In theory, it sounds good. The reality is much different.

My auntie pointed out WHY we shouldn't strive to live so long. Agree or not, the old gal had some valid points.

* "You run out of money." Unless you're a millionaire, you're going to run out of money. My auntie was an accounting exec for a large insurance company. She made a good salary and had planned better than most for retirement. She was thrifty as they come. Yet, by her late 70s, the money was getting tight. She lived just shy of 94 years. As the executor of her estate, I can tell you...she was out of money. Social Security ain't a lot.

* "Everyone you care about is dead, and the ones that are left are assholes." This was an eye-opener to me. It was something I'd never really thought about, but listening to my auntie for years, it made sense. The majority of her friends were long gone. Out of 13 children, all that were left were her and her baby sister...and they did NOT get along well. From the stories I'd been told, they never did. They only lived a few miles from each other, but only saw each other a few times a year. Sure...they played nice...but the animosity was definitely there.

One thing my auntie always told me was to live a happy life. Do something you enjoy for a living. Surround yourself with people that you enjoy being around. Be nice to people...even if you don't feel like it. Be responsible. Learn to drive! My auntie always regretted never getting a driver's license. It's OK to get drunk...but if you're hungover the next day, deal with it. You brought it on yourself. Basically, LIVE your life. Enjoy it. Don't worry so much. (and mind you, she wasn't a worrier...she was THE worrier!) Do all of these things and when it's your time to go, you'll be ready. The ones that are afraid of dying are the same ones who were afraid of living.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

An Old Photo

The photo was old and scratched up. It looked like it had been handled and mishandled for years, and it probably had. Passed from hand to hand, tucked into scrapbooks, displayed in frames, stuffed into drawers, and rescued again. It had been looked at thousands of times. It was still his favorite. It wasn't historically important. Just a photograph of friends sitting in someone's back garden, sharing a few laughs and a few cold beers. The image was every bit as grainy as the memories attached to it. The colors had faded with age, drifting toward reds and yellows. Time had left its fingerprints everywhere. He was the only one left in the photograph. When his time came, would anyone remember those old glory days? Those years when importance itself seemed unimportant. When photographs weren't taken to prove anything, advertise anything, or preserve a carefully crafted image. They were taken simply because someone thought a moment was worth keeping. There was no guarantee the p...

The American

 In his native America, he'd always had a shady reputation. As a young man, he worked as muscle for hire, worked as a bouncer in gambling houses and brothels, and always had a side hustle moving drugs or weapons. He could always be counted on to find a buyer for stolen goods, too. He was smart enough to see the cracks forming in the government long before most. Within days of the First Attack, he'd made plans to leave the country. Some of his cohorts with Sicilian lineage helped him get to Europe. From there he was on his own. He managed to bring along a tidy sum in cash and jewels. This gave him the advantage of time to form new contacts. He was told time and time again that the capital of Bulgaria - Sofia - would be a good place to set himself up. There were gangs there who could make use of his skills, and provided he kept out of trouble and his name out of the local gossip, he would do fine.  And he did. He pretty much became, as he liked to call himself, a consultant. He ...

New Book! (and what comes next)

 My 1st print book now exists. What a strange way to put it. I've always enjoyed writing, even when I was a kid and it wasn't cool . Honestly, I never thought I'd do anything with it. It was just another outlet for all of the ideas banging around in my head. For decades, a lot of these thoughts became songs. Now I've returned to the simplicity of words. I write because I enjoy telling stories - pretty much the same with songwriting. The only difference is that now I don't have to go on a stage or into a recording studio. There I days I miss both, but who knows...maybe one day I'll do it all again. Writers write for different reasons. Some for acclaim or notoriety. Some for profit. Same as with music, painting, sculpting, acting - I think those goals are a matter of seeking validation. But for what? Doing what you enjoy is validation enough. For years I've written this blog. In some ways, it's the perfect medium for me. I do it, it's done, published, ...