Sharing Autumn Days
Your timing is off. Wake up time for most of your life was six-thirty, so I could get to work by eight. Now, you’re up at 5:30 am, and I am still slowly adjusting, if a little tired. Your days were a time of great activity; evenings were restful. That is, until you grew older. Now your nights are spent pacing the floor. I remember the days when nothing got by you. But today, you petitioned to go out multiple times to relieve yourself, forgetting that you had already been. That second time that you ventured into the kitchen this morning for breakfast, I knew better. You finished your breakfast fifteen minutes before.
I look into your eyes and see the bewilderment with your own behavior. You don’t really know why you forget; it even puzzles you. Behind the eyes that once caught sight of everything around you, are eyes that have softened, have no need for pretense, and confidently exude your inner warmth.
Not really an illness or a disability; not so disturbing that we can’t work it out. Those extra steps to open the door for you, place your food bowl down a second time, or offer a verbal reminder. They are the simple annoyances that you and I have come to share. Another way of growing closer, as we each support the other’s aging process.
Let me see…Do you remember where I last put my car key? What do you think of my hair turning gray? Do you see the wrinkles, the crow’s feet, the laugh lines? When I gaze into the eyes of my aging dog, I see aspects of myself that I have come to reluctantly accept.
What a pair! We get through the day’s activities, helping each other.
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