REFLECTING ON AGING - THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

Every day I look out the back door, down to the end of my back yard where the two tall pines stretch to the heavens. I have a nice yard. I take a quick look at the fence. It's my fence. I had it erected years ago for my dogs. I paid a lot of money for it. It's been a good fence, keeping the good things in and the bad things out. I like living on my side of the fence. Just over the other side, about 10 feet from my property line, is a senior housing complex.

When I moved into my house, I was a young thing, perky, the neighborhood goodwill ambassador, delivering homemade Christmas cookies and holiday cheer to the seniors over the fence. I had just bought my first home, life was good, the future seemed bright and forever. I mowed my own lawn, planted a vegetable garden out back, some flowers along my walk, and continued on.

That was some thirty years ago. Those first seniors have all passed on by now. I haven't had much contact with the new seniors. They all look the same. They come and they go.

Over the years I worked, raised my daughter and my several dogs. Those years flew by. Gradually my own parents aged and became the seniors. I had hardly noticed. My father was still climbing the ladder to paint the upstairs windows well into his eighties. My mother was still organizing the annual garden club flower show into her late seventies. Everyone said they would live forever.

Years ago, when I thought I had a hundred or so years to fritter away, I used to joke that someday I'll just throw my stuff over the fence. How convenient is that? I won't even need a moving van. I'll have a big tag sale, downsize my stuff, then toss whatever is left over the fence and move right in. Someday is such a nice word, so much more comfortable than tomorrow or soon. Someday has no definite onset, and no need for immediate action.

Eventually my parents passed on. Now I am the senior. This is a role I have never looked forward to, have denied its gradual but determined coming. I still don't know how it happened, and I still haven't figured out how I'm going to deal with it. I'm sure I'll come up with something.

Now when I look at my fence, I see less a protector and more a screaming reminder of what's to come. How I miss the arrogance of youth.

Learn more about this author, Linda Cann Pearson.
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