Aging is a bitch

Age is such a relentless bitch. I refer to her in the female form as her traits emulate that example best. She ever so slowly grows on you, leaving a mark here and there, until you are consumed by daily reminders that her presence was there all along.

Watching my father age has been the most difficult. I cannot a picture a world without him in it without nearly bursting into tears. I have always said he would live forever, and we would end up in the same retirement home, joking and carrying on as we always have. Of all the people in the world, I simply cannot have him die. Age robs him of pieces here and there. His hearing, memory, concentration, and other things are starting to deteriorate. He seems to push ever on with all the cheer and energy he always has. It's when I see him in person that I collapse inside. I pretend now that it is not happening. I go to that naive part of my mind that knows he will be here even longer than I.

As for myself, I am not yet 30, but I know that my hair is graying, and I already do not have the energy I once did for cleaning the house. The energy part could probably be rectified by exercise and better diet. I figure out who I am more and more every day, and I become much more comfortable with that daily as well. I never knew what "finding one's self" really meant until this year. I know how to recognize it on the faces of others as well. It's a wonderful thing that cannot be faked to those who understand it.