Society is Unkind to Older People

I do not want my parents to grow old.
I want them to remain in their fifties, spry, bubbling with energy and stories and grit.
I do not wish to see them take medicine for weakening bones and heat flashes and an unhealthy appetite.
I fear for them.

Mama Nekpen fell down last Sunday afternoon.
Church, where she meets her brothers and sisters, had closed on a high note.
And she was walking on the pavement that covers foul gutters and wobbles beneath your weight.
Her chest made obeisance to the earth.
And I think that her life flashed before her eyes.

I hate when they drink teas, green, black and rose; when they’re reduced to supplements and special diets and waiting lines in a hospital; when they’re jostled back and forth on the busy roads and conductors and drivers and passengers, yell at them.

Do you not think that they were once like you and wish for all your energy and bounce and speed?

Mama was a baker.
Rows upon rows of meatpies, doughnuts and egg rolls or scotch egg, if you prefer.
Fingers that made wedding cake fondant and assembled impossible tiers and bathed six children.
Now arthritis makes a mockery of her hands,
dementia erases her beloved recipes from memory,
and her baking equipment lie useless.
No one wants them.
And I think that she feels the same way too.

I battle several fears everyday.
Every thing that could happen to slow reflexes and tiring bodies runs through my mind, a never ending reel.
I hope for an utopia for the elderly,
Where there are no aches and pains and tears.
Where shame doesn’t exist and glory is in aging teeth and drooping skin.
Where companionship is a mutual giving and taking,

I hope.

One day, Baba will lay in bed, tuck his feet under him and wonder why the world has gone to the baskets.
And then his minder will call his oldest son to tell him that Baba has left the physical earth.
And his oldest son will hold back tears like a man and call his siblings one after the other.
And they’ll fix a date and repaint the house and throw a lavish party.
And then, they’ll never come home again.

All the world’s a stage, and some people are exceptional actors.

I hope we become kinder.

The End.

Whew.
This one is heartfelt.
And it has wrung all the emotions from me.
Be kind.