Old Age is not for sissies

My mum and dad have this picture in their kitchen, drawn by my niece.  It says " Old age is not for sissies." And it is so true.
 I think getting older starts to get hard as soon as you turn 30.  I know that 30 is"the new 20," but there is something about entering your  fourth decade that gives you a permanent sense of slight panic.  It is time to start living  your dreams instead of dreaming them. Time to settle down.  Time to start a family. Time to own a house, And these days, time to make sure you are paying into a pension! I remember feeling that somehow, the first stage of my life was over, a line crossed, the future less glittering and more tangible.  But, with all the hindsight of someone now well into their fifth decade, 30 is young.   40 though...

Yesterday I watched my dad struggle to shuffle from arm chair to table in their living room, observed by an Occupational Therapist.   I saw my dad's frustration as  his legs refused to do what he was telling them to do. The OT was lovely and patient and helpful. But to him, my dad was just another elderly patient, struggling to walk normally through his day. And I wanted to shout out: " he's not just anyone, he's my dad."
Maybe the hardest thing about getting older, is feeling that you are losing your identity, that everyone looks at you and sees someone "old." We have all been guilty of feeling irritated when we are stuck behind someone who  is walking too slowly or  taking too long to pay,You begin to feel that others perceive you purely as the sum of your frailties and with every fibre of your body you want to shout out "Don't you understand,  I am so much more than this."

So Happy Birthday Dad.
To me you will always be sitting singing " Oh Shenaniki Da," ( spelling?) or " 10 Green Bottles," while you drive us to school. Or standing in the garden in your motorcycle gear, drinking in the serenity of flowers and fruit trees  before heading off to work. And you and I will always be walking together  (with legs that work ) along overgrown railway tracks in French forests, as the early morning mist swirls around us.

And if it's any consolation, when I went to buy my immorally expensive running shoes, they asked me if i'd ever worn orthoptics!