Happy @ 95.8

Here's LaVone, on the right, intent on bingo at her new digs, Morrow Heights,
an assisted living facility close to  my home in Rogue River, Oregon. 

My somewhat-older sister and I often discuss the probability that we will live into our nineties. Our father died at 93 and our mother is 95.8 and going strong. However, we've sorta decided we don't want to go there. What we'll do to prevent it, I don't know. I've told her I'm not going to be the one to do her in when/if she decides to check out. But I'm still in disbelief that I'm approaching 70, my sister, of course, is somewhat older. Age denial began decades ago and continues. Stupid, I know, not to "be here now", and sometimes I can be. But other times I look in the mirror and say, Who, me? My mother doesn't look in the mirror (she can't really see that well) and that's a lesson. She just IS here now, almost free of vanity* and distilled to her most essential needs: eating—her appetite is keen, seeing me, and playing games. Bingo every day! Yes! And dice two or three times daily and also a plastic-wand themed noodle-cize class. Between these activities and eating, showering, physical therapy,and pushing herself around in a wheelchair, she's occupied and has found her own elderly version of happy. I do not doubt that she is enjoying life, despite all the crappy details.

She forges ahead despite being almost deaf, nearly blind, stooped with severe osteoporosis, and having endured a recent pelvic fracture, a brief hospitalization, and 21 tortuous rehab days in a nursing home. Now she's installed in her fourth "home" in less than three years, and what does she do? She scrutinizes the activity schedule and jumps into every slot that will accommodate her. She's found her place, and I hope she never has to  move again. I'm learning from her. I don't know if I want to BE her. I'm not big on bingo or dice. But her ability to find pleasure in what some would consider a very thin medium is instructive and even inspirational. You go, LaVone. When (and if) I become 90, I will remember your example. Maybe my sister will too, and we won't have to deal with the messy details of euthanasia.


*While in the nursing home, she took my hand one day and implored, How do I look? Are my wrinkles really deep? I told her the truth. She is still attractive. Good bone structure doesn't lie. Her back may be stooped, but her cheekbones are still proud. 

LaVone a couple years ago, only 93, going with the flow.