What it must be like to live 93 years

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

At my cousin’s birthday party last weekend, I got to meet my Great Aunt Becky. She is 93 years old, the oldest member of my family. It made me think what it must be like to live that long- all the things that you get to experience.

Sadly, my great aunt broke her hip last year, and ever since her memory has rapidly deteriorated. She doesn’t remember anybody except her grandfather, which is kind of sad. However, I still find her a fascinating person; as she’s been around the better part of the 20th century.

2

There’s a lady in my apartment building who is 96 years old. I’m currently her weekly ride to church.

She lives on her own, gets around fine (to a point - she carries a cane), has a mind as sharp as anything. Her son (a retired priest) visits her several times a week and someone comes in to help her with laundry, grocery shopping and the like.

I’m still amazed with how sharp she is.

3

My oldest friend is 92, and kind of out of it—but in a pleasant, cheerful way. She remembers something that happened in 1928, but last week is a bit hazy. Her health is failing, but she’s well looked-after and has money, so all-round she’s had a good deal.

4

My father is 92 and is still pretty sharp. Physically, he is a wreck, but his mind’s still good. His father had the first automobile dealership in Grand Prairie, Texas—he sold Hupmobiles, believe it or not. I’ve heard a lot of stories about Dallas County in the teens, twenties and thirties. I have tried several times to get my father to record some of his memories, but he won’t do it. He lived through the commercial development of radio, not to mention TV, and the Great Depression. He has seen the development of air travel, from single engined puddle jumpers to the Concorde and a lot of other technological advances as well. His memories are worth having as living history, but he seems bent on taking them with him.

5

My Great Grandpa lived to be 1 month shy of his 101 birthday. On his 100th, he got a letter from the Queen and Prime Minister. It was kind of neat. He had a speech written about all the things he saw in his life. I was pretty young at the time (5 or 6) but one thing that kind of stuck with me made realize how old he was. He said he was 62 years old when WW2 started. WW2 to me was ancient history, and 62 was a really old guy. He was already middle-aged when man first flew in an airplane. And that guy was sitting in front of me.

Wow.

As a side, both my grandparents on my moms side lived into their 90s (Great Grandpa was from that side, too) and my dads mom is still kicking and she’s well into her 80s (maybe 90s now too). I think I come from pretty good stock.

6

My grandmother will be 98 shortly. I got her to record stories several years ago, on audio tape, so I will be able to keep a lot of memories alive. One thing about her that impresses me, she does not long for “the good old days” There are certainly things she misses, especially friends and relatives. But she, like me, prefers to live now when we have indoor toilets, electric lights, stoves and heating, good medicine, and washing machines She really likes the latter, and once told me “How did we ever keep things clean?” I love her more than almost anyone else, and her failing health distresses me tremendously.

In 1999 our local newspaper ran a short essay each day. Collectively they were titled “Remembering the Century” I had one printed, about how, at the age of 14, I watched the first moon landing with my grandparents. Grandpa(husband of the grandma above) was born in 1900, and I remember thinking of how much things had changed in his lifetime, from horse and buggy to the moon.

7

My grandmother died last week at 91, still sharp as a tack. The Tuesday before her passing, she won a seniors’ billiards tournament. Her demise was blessedly quick and painless, but she still had time to plan how, where, and when her funeral would be conducted. Some twenty-two years previously, she composed a poem which she intended to have distributed at her funeral. She still knew where she had it tucked away the day she died.

After the death of my grandfather, she traveled the world for awhile, then settled into a life of activity and community service which kept me, my family, my friends, and even acquaintences amazed and entertained for over two decades. She competitively played pool, golf, bowling, and who knows what else. She was a Senior Olympian and medalist. You oughta see her trophy rack.

At the tender young age of 80 she was a Senior Cheerleader, occasionally performing at halftime for my own Virginia Tech Hokies while I was there, and I got to cheer for her along with thousands of other mirthful students.

She taught Sunday School for I think close to seventy-five years. She lived in her own home to her last day, refusing to entertain the thought of leaving it in spite of the relentless advance of age. Her passage was timely, and so much more celebretory than sorrowful that scarcely a tear was shed.

And that’s the key: she lived her life so well, so kindly, so actively, so independently, so modestly, and so devoutly that it was impossible to fail to revere and admire her while she lived. Therefore, there was little to lament when she finally, peacefully passed away. Her passage, like everything else she did, was picture perfect and bore her unique and thoughtful signature.

Goodbye, Mama Jane, and godspeed. If I can play the game half as well as you did I too shall have lived in the grandest fashion that life has to offer.

8

Grandad’s 99 and admits to remembering things from his youth as if they happened yesterday. He and Grandmon celebrated their 72 wedding anniversay before we lost her a couple of years ago. He’s overweight, retired too early, runs on nervous energy and never exercises and yet his mind and memory are razor sharp.

Go figure.

9

My great-grandmother used to say that the age people lived to be was directly related to the “amount of cussedness in their soul.”

She lived to be 87.

10

Grampa’s 86 and the one thing he’s impressed on me about getting old is that the good ol’ days weren’t all that good.

He usually says this while flipping on a light (rather than lighting a kerosene lantern), turning a dial to turn on the stove (instead of dealing with chopping wood for the cookstove), or during long road trips while driving down the road in vehicles capable of achieving 70 mph (horse and buggy, anyone?).

But I can’t quite get him to appreciate my computer. I’m on a 28.8k dialup. It’s too slow :slight_smile:

11

My great-grandmother is 102 and DEFINITELY confirms that theory, or at least she did up to the age of 96 or so. Sadly, she doesn’t seem to be aware of much now, which makes her a great deal easier to get along with.

It’s kind of cool, knowing someone who was born during the McKinley administration, but I don’t want to live to be that old myself.

12

I worked for 4 years as an elder abuse social worker at a small social services org.

One day I got a referral from a hospital social worker: while hospitalized briefly for an electrolyte imbalance, an elderly woman’s bank books and other important papers had been removed from her apartment by her middle-aged daughters. (Standard stuff in my line of work at the time). I spoke with the client who was sharp and rational and annoyed with her daughters (“adopted”, she explained to me; “I know they mean well, and because I was getting on in age when I adopted them, they think I’m too old to mind my own business, but they got no excuse for this and I want my stuff back”). Talked to the daughters on the phone, explaining to them that if they think the client is incompetent they can apply to be made guardian, but that in my opinion they didn’t stand the chance of a snowball in hell of convincing a judge that that woman was missing any downbeats. They agreed that their mom was cognizant and coherent and all and reluctantly agreed to return her things, but added, “She won’t accept help, and I don’t care what she says, she’s too old to be living on her own like that”.

How old, just out of curiosity? Not that it matters, legally speaking.

No one knows. They weren’t too precise in recording dates of birth in the rural areas of South Carolina back then.

I met with the client in person, and, as predicted by the daughters, she declined any interest in meals on wheels or other services. She confirmed that she did not know her true age, but she had done social work herself for many years under the administration of NYC mayor Fiorello LaGuardia. She showed me a possession of which she was very proud: her diploma from the Charleston (SC) Coloured Women’s Institute, showing that she had completed the program for both the domestic and the academic tracks. Her own mom had emphasized that she needed to know grammar and math, and it had served her well.

In 1913.

Out of curiosity I called around at some libraries in the Charleston area and found a reference librarian who was able to look up some information on the school, and based on the wording of the diploma estimated that students were probably around 21 or 22 when they received their diplomas. So she was most likely around 102 or 103.

13

Sofa King, what a beautiful tribute to your grandmother. That was deeply touching.
I’ve worked with the elderly on and off for 20 years, since I was 17. I’ve always found the elderly extremely fulfilling to be around. They are walking, talking, history books. They’ve seen all that life has to offer, and have much wisdom to share, if you’ll only shut up and listen.

14

Once, years ago, a tiny wee old lady wandered into the office where I was working, having mistaken the place for a corner store. She was trying to buy a carton of smokes and had gotten turned around somehow. It was closing time, so I drove her over to the store and offered her a ride home when she asked me to call a taxi for her. On the way there, she informed me she was 85 years old and had smoked since she was 16. (!!!)

She invited me up to her condo where she lived alone. (I’m female, I guess she trusted me…or perhaps recognized a fellow imbiber, not sure) She offered me a drink of “wine”, which turned out to be Harvey’s Bristol Creme. Over the course of the next few hours, we drank her “wine” and she talked about her life. She was bored stiff with her friends of her own age because “all they ever did was bitch about their health problems.” (!!!) Surprisingly, she had few health problems of her own: Deteriorating hearing and vision, and bunions and ingrown toenails caused by a lifetime of wearing high heels. She rather proudly showed me her poor deformed old feet and her bunions were probably the worst I’ve ever seen. The state of her feet didn’t seem to bother her except for her baby toenails which were digging into the next toe due to the deformities. She said she had trouble trimming them, so I offered to trim them for her, (might as well, since I was there drinking her booze) which she gratefully accepted.

She was proud of her independence, she still did her own cooking, laundry and light housework. She had one grown son who checked in on her now and then, brought her groceries and helped her with heavy housework but refused to buy booze and cigarettes for her.

She regaled me with stories about life in Toronto in her glory days, the parties and how “one for the road” was commonplace. (As it indeed was when I was a kid) How she never went anywhere without full “dress code and warpaint” and was one of those women who actually did housework in skirt and heels. How, on his deathbed fifteen years earlier, her husband promised her he would come for her and how she had been waiting impatiently ever since. (The only sad note in her voice during the whole conversation)

She attributed her health and longevity to never allowing herself a moment’s self-pity, having no regrets in life whatsoever, and drinking. With a twinkle in her eye, she proclaimed herself to be “pickled and preserved” and indeed she certainly drank me under the table that evening. (No small feat, I regret to say)

That was quite an evening. I never saw her again after that day, but I think about her often.

15

My Grandmother lived to 98, she died in 1987. She was active up until the last few months. She lived on a farm in KY all her life. My wife and I visited her one day when she was about 96. She was peeling some potatos and told us she’d been out hoeing in the garden. She got a scared look on her face (she knows we grandchildren don’t like her out working in the hot sun) and assured us, “It was only three or four rows.” Probably two hours of work.

Her mother lived to be almost 105 and died in 1952. I can just remember going to her funeral. She too as active. In her case to the last day. Granny told me she laid down to take a nap and never woke up.

My Mother-in-law is 82 and still works 4 days a week and loves it.

My Grandmother and Great-Grandmother lived long, healthy lives and died surrounded by people that loved them. You can’t ask for a lot more than that.

16

My great-grandmother celebrated her 99th birthday last April.

She lives in an assisted-living facility now. Nice place she’s got, I’m telling you. Wish they’d let me live there!

Mentally, she’s still sharp as a tack. Of course, I appreciate this. But you know who thinks it’s even cooler?

My daughters. My oldest daughter, who is fourteen now. And my five-year-old daughter, who is now old enough to retain a memory of her *great-great-grandmother. *

I myself didn’t think anything was special about having great-grandparents when I was a kid. I had three of them when I was born, and didn’t lose the first one until I was 16. But it wasn’t until I had Diana (my five-year-old), and we had a five generation picture taken, that it hit me. I was nearly thirty at the time…and I *still * had a great-grandparent? My daughters had a great-great-grandma? Damn! How cool is that?

And two years later, I had a son. Now all of my kids have a great-great-grandma.

But it’s not just my kids that have her. My great-grandma has nine great-great grandchildren. Nine of them.

There’s an old saying that goes something like “As long as one is remembered, one never really dies,” or something like that. Well, I think my great-grandma is going to live forever. :slight_smile:

17

Mrs. H’s grandparents are still alive. They are both in thier mid-90’s and have been married for over 70 years. Grampa was too old to be drafted for WWII. Both of them are still mentally sharp and Gramma still drives them to church.

A couple of years ago the grandkids got together and bought them Web TV. Now Gramma sends email!

Haj

18

My great grandfather is 100, and practiced law until he was 98. The man was in two world wars. He is incredible.

On an aside, have you ever seen Tuck Everlasting, or read the book?

19

Hehe. Reminds me of my friend’s great aunt Ruby. She began smoking at age six, when the ranch hands on her parents’ ranch taught her to roll cigarettes down in the bunkhouse. As an old lady, she had a drink of wine and a drink of bourbon every day. The men in the small Oregon town she lived in would come to her house to drink beer and watch football when their wives objected. When my friend and her BF would come out to help her with odd jobs, they’d inquire “how are you aunt Ruby?” Her reply: “Oh, you know, last week I got raped and robbed, and you know how I hate to get robbed.” She smoked for 80 years.

20

Err…if he was 62 in 1939 he would have been 26 in 1903. That’s scarely middle aged. But at least he was well into middle age when passenger airlines got established.