Papa, don’t grow old,” I threw my arms around my father and pleaded; and held him tighter and longer than I have in a very long time.
You see, I have never been more acutely aware of the realities of ageing. Not just greying hair, growing older, changing priorities, fluctuating metabolisms and progressively earlier bed times… I’m particularly distracted by the painful realities of a maxed out life.
My grandfather isn’t doing well. Mentally he’s sharp as a tack; but his suffering stems from a loss that makes pneumonia seem like a slight, annoying bruise. Through last week, I saw the brute that broke him — time. He turned 94 a few days back, and the weight of nearly a century rests heavy on his tired shoulders, gnarled into small knots. It is seeing old age — aching for displaced independence, modesty and humility. It is understanding the frightening fragility of life.
In the limited conversation my grandfather was able to have, he advised us to enjoy being young, healthy, and reassured us that he had most definitely enjoyed it. I feel at peace for him, but do I feel at peace for myself? Have I made enough mistakes? Have I made too many? Was I too frivolous with money? Taken enough risks? Have I spent too much time worrying, and not enough time wondering? Am I still holding on to moments that don’t matter, and ignoring the ones that do?
It is so, so terrifying and disorienting to realise that your parents are not invincible. When you realise that they’re just mortal, like you — who are capable of screwing up, getting hurt and needing help. You begin to understand that they have fears too, they’re fallible.
They’re not supposed to grow old. They’re always supposed to be the hard-headed, incredibly kind parents who sat in the front row of every middle school play and choir concert, right? I look at old photographs from a time when they were quite possibly the most beautiful couple in the room; and desperately scan their faces to find myself — catching a glimpse in the slight of a hand or a curl in the hair. Then I notice the new lines, dimmed irises, tired eyes, and marred skin. So I worry. I worry so much.
Along with this worry comes new realisations. It’s so easy to get wrapped up in our little bubble of wants and hopes, that we sometimes forget that the lives of people around us are changing too. They’re not supposed to grow old, but they do. This holiday season, share love instead of lipstick. Share laughter instead of a limited edition palette, and share hope. Share because it is timeless. The world needs your heart of gold.
Saumya Chawla
@pixie.secrets
The writer loves to over-share, drink wine & watch period dramas