I have many fears- as most people do. I have the natural fears, like heights and being made fun of- but one fear stands out the most.
I’m afraid to grow old.
When you get older, in a majority of case you slowly begin to forget- it starts off with old memories, then you’re unable to recall important dates like your anniversary or someone’s birthday- and then you slowly begin to forget the people around you, who they are and what relation they have to you. Your very own child or grandchild could become a stranger to you.
Now, most elders do in fact lose their minds- lose the ability to walk, talk, and even think. But as I look over at my grandmother, I’m filled with genuine pity. My grandma would be what you call “a lucky one,” she’s kept her memories, and she knows who I am. But… is she lucky?
The friends she has made have either died, moved on or forgotten her. Her family is growing, and they’re so busy with their own children and grandchildren that they no longer have time for her.
Every day she looks into a mirror and she can watch herself wither away, see her own bones decay and become brittle, witness her own flesh rot-, the fat in her body no longer protects her bones and allows them to snap with a bad fall. A paper-cut becomes deadly, and no longer can she provide herself with the basic necessities.
You call her lucky because she can remember- but wouldn’t it be better if she forgot- if she couldn’t see herself dying- if she could no longer comprehend?
When I reach the inevitable, I want to lose my mind. I want to go crazy so I won’t have to see myself fade away.
I’m afraid of growing old and knowing how it’ll end.
