When I was a young working mom, I made a habit of tidying up before going to bed.
It made me feel good. It helped me sleep. In addition to preventing the place from turning into a hoarder home, it gave me a sense of peace. And I hope it did the same for my children.
That’s kind of how I expected retirement to be: A nice stroll into a calm, slow, nonthreatening way of life as we put aside the chaos of the working world.
Au contraire!
Of course, there are many wonderful things about getting old. Grandchildren foremost among them.
But, pardon me if I can’t remember anything else right now.
I hate to be a Donna Downer, but can we just be honest? I mean I’m all for positive attituding but, well, my lower back aches, my hair is thinning, my Social Security information has just been hacked and several of my peers are in serious health trouble.
If that’s not enough, when I consider where I’ll be in five or 10 years, the words “horrible death” seem to overlay the images I once had of Mrs. Claus serving cookies to the elves.
As hard as positive thinkers try to make this trudge into the “golden” years palatable, even desirable, I am finding much of it is a sham, a con, a series of euphemisms for “this sucks.”
Of course it beats the alternative but, seriously, we worked all of our lives to spend our final chapter in the bathroom?
Who among actually sleeps all night? Who among us can retrieve the dropped spoon without using an expletive? Who among us is confident our money will last as long as our heart beats, especially now that the powers that be are threatening to yank the financial security blanket we contributed to all our lives?
And who among us is happy to look in the mirror?
Of course, we have Monday mornings to ourselves. There’s that. No more day-to-day stress of meeting deadlines, working like a dog and then going home to worry about being laid off.
But with that relief comes an emptiness, an irrelevance, an open calendar. Sure, it’s great not to have to spend the afternoon waiting for the clock to reach 5. But I miss the characters who used to break up the drudgery with wisecracks, temper tantrums, surprise snacks and bald-faced bets on the outcome of an election or sporting contest.
I miss setting goals too. These days the objectives are not about achievement but rather, forfeiture.
Certainly, we have friends outside of work. But they’re also of a certain age, and varying degrees of fitness, so it’s not like we can just man a volleyball team.
What they don’t tell you about aging is that every day, there is loss.
Hair, muscle, balance sheet.
People.
That’s the worst of it. The very people with whom you once danced all night, laughed out loud, ran like a banshee or dreamed about how great life would be when it’s finally 5 o’clock forever are leaving us.
The very people you thought would live forever, just because they were too strong or too mean or too good to die are now exiting stage left.
And as much as it hurts to watch your hairline recede and your bottom-line droop, it’s way more crushing to see your circle shrinking.
I wonder if that’s why the body starts to constrict, to absorb all of the holes left by loss.
Every now and then, you shake off the funk and try to invigorate adrenaline into the days you have left. Time’s awasting. That clock is ticking. Better get busy living.
And you run out of your house, hoe in hand, because this is the day that you will plant that rainbow rose garden you’ve dreamed about all your life. You map out a bed, plunge that shovel into the ground and then collapse to your knees with the realization that while your dreams may be alive and kicking, your arm muscles gave up years ago.
Or you research a trip to some exotic destination, something that will challenge and stimulate, make you feel young again. You pack a bag and, as you’re prepping to reclaim your youth, you realize you need to call someone to get that suitcase off the bed.
Laughs aside, one of the most unsettling things about getting old today is the state of chaos our nation is in.
I’d like to leave this world knowing there is calm and order, and kindness and compassion, and that my children and their children will enjoy a lifetime of love and opportunity. I’d like to believe that they will be able to deal with whatever challenges come their way.
Lately, however, the administration’s “everything, everywhere, all at once” approach to governing has made people seem hateful and mean, not to mention exhausted. Who expected America to take a hatchet to compassion and opportunity, the very things that have always made us who we are, and so coveted around the world?
I grew up with daily chores. While cleanliness may have been “close to Godliness” for my Catholic school teachers, my father emphasized that neatness brings safety, calm and clarity, not to mention a good night’s sleep.
Which makes me wonder, how are we boomers ever going to be able to rest in peace knowing we’re leaving behind a hot mess?
Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at donnavickroy4@gmail.com.
