My father was an astute sports man but none of it showed when he got bedridden for nearly 9 months at the hospital. An accident had left him frail, weak and unable to move most of his limbs without help. When you touched his hands, arms, legs or any part in order to wash or help him move, it felt old, weightless and nearly lifeless. Worse case, his situation ‘smelled’ to me like a pain that had probably come to stay. I was young then, so I never thought or hoped beyond him getting better. So his death, like many others, shocked the living out of my then 15 years old body. I had to fake tears.
My grandfather, actually my grand uncle, one of my favorite people to live, was quite the tallest, most energetic and caring man I knew. The cotton softness of his palms, the weakness in his bones and his inability to walk without a support always reminds me of the memory of him I keep. One of him walking gracefully to me in Senior High school with some food stuff in hand. Apart from an Aunty, he was the only one who ever came to check up on me in school. He was and has always been my hero and holding his hands, kneeling and talking to him now, only breaks my heart. His voice is weak, his movement is slow, old age caught up with him while we were not looking. Him telling me about how he now remembers having felt burdened when he had to take care of his own father in his kind of state, made him feel like he was a terrible son, made me shiver. Life caught up with him while we were unbothered!
My step grandmother whom I have always known as a beautiful woman lays nearly lifeless. Fair, not tall and not very short with beautiful hair and a great figure. She has been in bed for a while now and can hardly even blink. Touching her, kissing her face, smearing du’as all over her body, made me lose sight of the world in which we live. And this makes me regret all the days I declined eating the tz she’d cook whenever I visited. As we frantically searched for our purposes in life, we did not see this coming our way.
These days, I like to think that I’m old. At least, old enough because I see my child and I’m reminded of the ages where I only could talk to my mother and aunties by raising my head up. I like to think that I’m old because of my own collection of experiences in life. But even while assuming this, I’m hit by a deep realization of ‘How did I even get here?’ A sober reflection of The Who I am, what I am, where I’m from, where I'm headed, only brings to mind, FOR WHAT PURPOSE WAS I CREATED? If I do not die any time soon, how do I walk hand in hand with life so it doesn’t catch me unguarded?!
As Muhammad Ali has said, “Old age is just a record of one’s whole life”. How well do you live your days?! Do you live them in appreciation of being blessed with that day? Do you live them in glory and with the knowledge that if you do not die any moment soon, you will be happy with a life well lived? And in your hustle and bustles, do you pause and carefully look at your reflection in the mirror and see that you are different from what you were before? A character or personality build up?
That’s your old age catching up with you. If you haven't, take a day and visit any old folk. Any sick person. Pray for them and have them pray for you. Then while at it, LOVE AND RESPECT OLD AGE BECAUSE YOU ARE AGEING TOO AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT...
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