#growing old
20
when i am older, i used to think,
i would turn into someone else.
like a caterpillar’s metamorphosis,
pulling me out of myself.
but what is fate if not predestined;
a novel if not read;
a life if not lived; or
a tree if not heard?
dust creaks in my bones,
piling up in untouched fairy tales.
the girl who lived happily ever after
lies buried beneath my fingernails.
if the girl in the tale lived now,
forgoing her finished story;
the pages of the book would flip open,
her words in bloody allegory.
she doesn’t bite the apple.
she doesn’t hide in the woods.
she doesn’t run from the castle.
she stands in the throne room.
the clock hits midnight;
the bells start ringing;
a wanted poster is put up,
saying cinderella’s gone missing.
land beckons like a siren,
but the ocean’s call is sweeter.
a trident is hefty in her grip,
and a crown is heavy on her head.
if aurora could choose, maybe
she wouldn’t be born at all.
because what’s a life worth living
if you know how you fall?
now i dip my hands into the silt,
beneath the surface of the river.
then you drag me from the water,
and time trickles between my fingers.
one of my greatest fears is being left alone
but growing old comes a second close.
Both of these verbs mean “to age” or “to grow old” but of course Japanese can’t go easy on us so yes, they do have slight nuances and differet uses.
老いる「おいる」this is used in the sense that you have physicall getting old, your body is aging and changing with time, something you cannot stop
例文：
- 彼の妻の死で、彼は早く年老いた。
- 老いた犬に新しい芸当を教え込むことはできない。
- 彼は自分が老いていくのを感じた。
老ける「ふける」you *appear* to be getting old, or your way of thinking is becoming old, also can have negative connotation, caused by things like lifestyle and diet
例文：
- 彼は年よりも老けて見える。
- 女は老けるのは早い。
- 髪の毛には白いものが混ざっていたが、あまり老けたようには見えない。
Other ways to express aging!
年を取る to grow old, often used in place of 老いる in casual speech
年を重ねる to age, used like 老ける
actually i love growing older and learning how i work as a person like realizing what kinds of fabrics feel best on my skin or what brand of yogurt i like best or how I want to be touched. watching myself change, enjoying brussel sprouts when I used to hate them as a child, understanding why I got angry in that one conversation 10 years ago… there are so many mysteries inside me that i have yet to unravel and there will always be more and sometimes i think maybe its all worth it
i hear yoou recently ive been really into sauted asparagus
Jeopardy! is a staple in my family. I would make my way to my grandparents house for a visit - arriving just in time for “The Wheel” (Wheel of Fortune) and Jeopardy! to air. I would sit on the couch across from my grandfather on his recliner chair, TV blaring and help my grandmother complete a puzzle. Sometimes she’d hand me a comb and say, “Laur, give my hair a brush.” I would sit and brush her hair for hours in the front room.
The front room was always impeccably clean - moderate size with a small fireplace and mantle filled with those tasteful small houses that used to come with your package of Red Rose tea. The floor was adorned with an oriental rug while reclining wing-back chairs flanked the bay window where there sat an old “sideboard/hidden-record player.” Sitting at attention on the floor near the fireplace was Nan’s favourite dog, Coco. Coco was a brown miniature-poodle sculpture which was later spray painted gold, when Nan thought Coco needed a makeover. There was display case in one corner which housed Nanny’s collection of Swarovski crystal figurines - her particular favorite, a dolphin. A small symbol of winters spent in Florida.
At Nan’s I could relax. Nothing was expected of me. It was a relief. I could just be me. I’d do the geeky things that I enjoyed like dressing up in Nan’s costume jewelry or reorganizing her bedroom photographs (while occasionally eating chocolates in her fridge). We’d assemble puzzles and she’d say, “I just can’t seem to get this one Laur - I need your help.” I knew she never needed my help but she really wanted me to believe that she did. It was a comfortable silence - in fact, the only one I felt throughout the entirety of my teenage years. She’d tell me how proud of she was when I felt like sometimes my parents and other family members were at odds or tired of me. Often she’d call me Jen, which to me was a good thing, since Jen was one of her favourites.
I never really thought of her mixing up my name with Jen’s as anything - particularly nothing serious. At 92, Nan is the picture of physical health. She takes just a half of a sleeping pill at night. Yet, we’ve lost her and have been told she’s never coming back.
It started about five years ago, when she was still living in her home she had shared with Grampy, still shoveling her driveway - still seemingly normal. One day she called in a panic. She was weak and needed hospitalization. Maybe the signs were clear earlier, but no one was clueing in. She had always been so independent.
My grandmother built planes in World War Two where she met my grandfather - there was a romantic story of talking across streets and courtship in Halifax. She made jokes and told stories that made you laugh until your sides hurt. She’d drive her Volvo around town, take me places and pick me up when my parents weren’t available. She used to walk around the neighbourhood for exercise on her own, hem everyone’s pants, decorate on her own and shop on her own.
Now at dinner, she sits next to me, with her hearing aid buzzing, not quite sure how to adjust it but too proud to ask for help. She interjects awkwardly in conversation and very rarely asks questions about others. She makes up stories about her own children and clings to things she dreams or hallucinates as real. She is known to tell the same story at least four to five times in a row and often forgets words. I used to be able to piece together what she meant and translate for the other members of the family, but now, I can’t. She’s easily frustrated and always seems to have a complaint. In fact, everyone gets frustrated - because it is sometimes easier to be angry than to be sad. The saddest part was to see her most recent puzzle. Pieces were forced into place without patterns connecting - a very non-sensical arrangement. My parents rationalize it by saying, “When you are that old, you have holes in your brain.”
While reading a story by Alice Munro in “Dear Life” a few evenings ago, I finally understood what is happening to my grandmother and so many others afflicted with these illnesses. The story plot follows a woman who seems to be living and then reliving one event in her life that she really thinks is happening. It’s a loss in the time/space chronology of her life and she knows something is amiss yet cannot identify where she is going wrong. She demonstrates emotions of shame, embarrassment and anger - mostly with herself and sometimes expressed at others.
The hardest part of all of this is - all is not lost yet. We see glimmers of Nan in jokes or retorts and once and awhile she asks specifically about others’ health or life plans. She’s even offered me her earrings after I told her I liked them - remembering my love of jewelry. Its enough to make you hope that somehow this trend is reversible - that she will come around.
There is no solution to dementia but there is an ability to find resolve. I am going to continue to treat Nan as if she were the Nan I knew. The Nan that used to make me smile while I helped her decorate her Christmas tree and would make her stuffed elves and animals dance. The Nan that would call me “Laura Babe,” made me boiled dinners and give me popsicles until my mouth turned purple at the cottage. The Nan who always tells me I can be anything and do anything because I am “so smart” and “so good.” I am going treat Nan like that Nan until she completely forgets who I am. Until I become unrecognizable. Until I am just another piece of the puzzle which doesn’t fit and then I’ll say goodbye.
#escapril2022 day four. a strange behaviour.
