I began this blogging on my 75^th birthday – almost a year ago.  As the days draw nearer to birthday number 76, I have begun to reflect on what our lives mean as senior citizens- a phrase I had deliberately omitted from my vocabulary – until now. 

During the past few months, a series of catastrophic events have happened and I realized that the older we get, the more of these events will occur. 

The last day of May, the most loving and huggable woman in the world passed away in Beaverton, OR.  During the time we lived there, we belonged to the same dance club and became close friends.  She had the brightest smile and never said a bad word about anyone.  She loved Joseph beyond belief.  He used to make blackberry jelly because we had huge blackberry bushes growing behind our home in Portland.  She wanted to learn to make jelly so they decided to pick blackberries and make jelly.  She wore a beautiful white jumpsuit for the event!  Joseph still talks about that!  When we moved from Portland to Seattle, she brought a folding card table complete with tablecloth and a picnic to feed all of us who were doing the final cleaning.  Her heart was bigger than imaginable!

A dear friend in Enterprise passed away about two weeks ago.  He was a part of our Enterprise Ballroom Dance Club until recently, when he and his wife were no longer able to attend.  They came to our home for Thanksgiving one year – during COVID, when we sat 6 feet apart!  He could tell the most interesting stories.

A dear friend in Melissa, Texas passed away two weeks ago.  We were very close friends while we lived in Allen, Texas.  She was a member of the NARFE (retired civil service) group.  She was a fabulous decorator and hostess.  At Halloween, her house looked like the classiest Halloween scene you have ever seen!  Elegant witches galore!  She loved frogs – had them everywhere.  She loved Christmas as much as I do and her decorations were so elegant!  She really enjoyed the NARFE Christmas party at my home every year.  I would set the table with china and crystal.  We would fry a turkey in the garage and everyone would bring a potluck dish.  We always played “Dirty Santa” after lunch and she always tried to make sure I got the best gift!  She was such a sweet lady and always wanted me to visit her when I came to town.  I will miss her warm hugs and sweet smile.

Last weekend, a sweet, sweet friend, only 66, in Renton, Washington passed away from Stage 4 lung cancer that had metastasized throughout her whole body.  She and her husband were loving, caring, friendly people.  Joseph worked with both of them while at Boeing and he credits her with saving him from prison for “killing” one of their managers!  She would take him on long walks during lunch and “talk him off the ledge.”  She and her husband took us flying out to Friday Harbor one Friday for a hamburger!  Then flew us back low through Seattle at night.  How thrilling.  Every time we went back to the Seattle area for a visit, they made sure to have a little dinner party for us with some of Joseph’s closest co-workers.

Just this past Friday, a very close friend had to be admitted to a memory care unit after months of going downhill fast.   He has lost weight dramatically – he has always been thin, but it now just bones.   We were afraid he was forgetting to eat.   We took him out to eat at least once a week, but we worried!  On Wednesday, he had been out driving at night, pulled into a neighbor’s driveway, and attempted to go into their home, thinking he was at his home.  The son of the homeowner was a policeman and came.  They knew my friend and realized something was wrong.  They were afraid he had had a stroke, so they called the rescue squad.  As his emergency contact, we got a call at 10 PM telling us of the situation.  We quickly got re-dressed at flew to the ER.  The doctor told us that under no circumstances could he ever drive or stay alone again, that he is in the late stages of dementia.  He can’t remember the names of the streets near the home he has lived in for 50 years, nor can he remember his sister nor nieces’ names.  My sweet husband spent the night with him at his home that night, his niece arrived the following day and the following day, his life had changed forever.

As I remember all these happenings so recently, I recalled an article I saw on Facebook a few days ago.  It had to do with the impatience of grown children when their parents must downsize or dramatically change their living situation.  The grown children can’t understand how difficult it is to get rid of things.  Honey – these things represent our LIVES.  Each “thing” has a memory attached to it. 

You are giving away your “LIFE”.

When we moved to Chancellor from Texas, we had a lot of stuff.  I don’t mean just a lot of stuff; I mean a LOT OF STUFF!  The movers had never seen so much STUFF.  As I was unpacking, a local lady – who has since become a very close friend – volunteered to help me unpack.  As we unpacked my curio cabinet, she would unwrap and I would place things in the curio.  If you’ve seen it, you know it is stuffed!  I told her about each piece that went into the cabinet.  Where we were when I got it, who gave it to me – from the bicycle made from twisted wire that I bought on the street in Barcelona in 1992, to the beautiful wand my grandson made me out of paper and hot glue!  These things represent the memories of my life.  Just being able to remember where these things came from is such a blessing – one that I fully realized last Friday.  

Last Christmas, as I was putting things away, I had this crazy idea.  I felt that I should choose my favorite ornaments and put them in a separate box labeled “things to take to the nursing home.”  These were the special things, not the Lennox Santa, not the Waterford snowflake, but the picture of Jason that he cut out and placed in a colored and glittered L’eggs egg from the third grade.  The beautiful reindeer and sled using clothespins and popsicle sticks made by Jason when he was in Cub Scouts. 

I’m so grateful that I have most of my memories, but so sad that I must remember these sweet ones who are gone, both physically and mentally.  As someone much wiser than me once said, “Growing old ain’t for sissies!”