BY JOELLEN COLLINS
During the middle of a sleepless night, while recuperating from a necessary but not dangerous surgery, I wrote the following column. Two weeks later, I have pulled it out because, since that initial writing, I have been reminded daily of some changes in health and other aspects of life that come with age, even for reluctant seniors. Recently, I also heard a radio spot about “Senior Center Month,” reinforcing my new understanding of “awareness” of and about the elderly. Here’s the piece:
I am indeed a senior. At the age of only 53, when I joined the Peace Corps, that was my designated label. I ignored it then, and for many years since. Now I honor that appellation because it is an unavoidable reality. Actually, I have passed into this phase of existence rather slowly, enough to find humor in many associated circumstances.
For example, my home, previously considered rather eclectic and even chic, now looks like a place where an “old person” lives. It is filled with implements of healing and recovery: a bar installed in my bathtub, a bench in the shower so I am less likely to fall getting in and out with my booted leg propped on the tub’s edge, plus an additional toilet seat to help me disembark safely from the roll-about scooter which I ride from room to room. Nearby rests a walker and crutches I will soon use.
Also in view are things usually out of sight: an unmade bed, garbage ready to be recycled, pillows for elevating my leg, towels to wipe up spills, extra bifocals and phones at the ready, note pads and pens everywhere so I won’t forget what I just remembered, extra cardigans on chairs, and unwashed plates and pans. I have kidded before that my epitaph will be “She left the dishes in the sink.” I finally have an excuse for that.
Luckily, I giggle at the mess, remembering my former abodes that reflected my stages of life at those times. Now my clutter is full of things “old people” keep: family photos everywhere, grandchildren’s artwork, travel memorabilia, and books and magazines waiting to be read. I do remind myself that most of my HGTV-forbidden doodads are reminders of love for the people and places I have cherished.
I have learned that our Valley has many things to help me and others paddle comfortably toward the final shore. (Is that dramatic enough?) I have discovered assistance programs through the Senior Connection and CSI’s Office on Aging and Adult Services and appreciated our excellent medical facilities like St. Luke’s’ wound clinic. Thanks be for all. I have received generous help from friends who have carted me and my scooter around and spent precious moments cheering me up.
I plan to keep reminding myself that I am in a place where help, love and kindness are available to me. It’s all about time—my time of life and time to be glad I am exactly where I am.
