Ronni at Time Goes By does.
But many bloggers are almost apologetic about even talking about the downsides. And there can be many or few of these, depending on health - financial, mental, emotional, physical.
Or is it wearing the brave old face thing through adversity. Exhausting in itself, right?
I remember my father chugging along, even though it appears that he also had PVD (like me now) judging by his grinding-halt-when-walking-syndrome the last time we trekked Sherkin Island and we had to summon a kind driver to ferry him the rest of the way to Silver Strand and then back to the pier. He never shared any of his ailments with his children and he lived alone, soldiering on. Brave? We like to call old people suffering silently brave. But is it? Is it shame? Is it fear of being a crashing organ recital bore?
So what is old age? Hard to define. But as one old wag put it: Old age is five years older than I am now.
I'm way past my allotted three score and ten now - which used to be extreme old age a century ago. I've outlived my own mother by over twenty years. More of my contemporaries and friends are dead than alive. Let that sink in.
This interesting article was forwarded by a friend who is younger than I by about 7 or 8 years. But as we age into 75 do we get greedy? Will he change his opinion?
But here is a simple truth that many of us seem to resist: living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world. It transforms how people experience us, relate to us, and, most important, remember us. We are no longer remembered as vibrant and engaged but as feeble, ineffectual, even pathetic.
Is there a point to living beyond 75? Do we continue to suck greedily on our health resource services costing so much tax dollars from the youngers who support us through their taxes? And yes, I know we contributed in our turn to the elders of our time. How long does this go on? Till we drool our way to being spoon-fed and diaper changed? I mean we think it's never going to happen to us but hey, I've seen many being carted off who didn't think it would happen to them either. Last case in point a man I had a few coffee dates with.
I am more conscious now of "last times". I know we can't go home again but I truly believe we are never quite aware of the last time we're experiencing something, or being somewhere or being with someone until we are startled suddenly into the realization: yeah, that was the very last time.
And we weep quietly. Bravely alone. Or stay removed and stoic. But that isn't a choice. It's how we're built.
What sayeth you?