There is no joy in Mudville. There is no joy in the Pfizer fogged eyes of the denizens of fun city.
These eyes have seen too much, lost too much, loved too much and cried too much.
They are pain riddled, barely functioning and tethered to a stream of office visits, uncertain diagnoses and prescription pick-up centers. They feel “used up”.
They came from generations of hard working, law abiding, church going, tax paying families who put every day of their lives into their loved ones and careers.
They didn’t have time to see a personal trainer or a nutritionist. No time for the Elks or the PTA. Certainly no time for Transcendental Meditation or Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.
They barely had time to look in the mirror. It was a 40 year grind to feather the nest.
What have we now? We have the over medicated, walking wounded passing their golden years in a hospital waiting room, a nursing home, or waiting for a van to take them food shopping.
This is the suffering I see in in the eyes of folks who took care of everybody but themselves for most of their lives. Cardiovascular exercise and resistance training wasn’t in vogue back in the day.
Worrying about the nutritional value of their diet was pure folly as long as you had a plate to eat off of.
It just wasn’t on their list. Especially depression era survivors.
Now, they will spend their remaining days making compensations for all the bodily functions that don’t quite fully function anymore.
Instead of a finish line, they find a constantly moving goal post. “One good day” is all they ask for.
Retirement shouldn’t be filled with this much angst and suffering.
Yet, they suffer greatly. Have you thought about how will approach the rigors of aging? Are you investing in your future health?
As Bette Davis said, “Old age ain’t for sissies.”
I’d take her at her word.