Well I am old. Not as old as I could be, I suppose. As far as I can see growing old is a privilege. One not given to everyone. So many people younger than I am are dying so I try to be grateful. Not that I particularly enjoy some of those privileges that go along with ageing. The breakdown in my body for instance. However having found writing after I reached retirement age, it has kept my mind active and without my writing I’d be really scared of getting older. My husband and I are lucky in that we have each other. If I lived alone, with only myself to think about, I don’t think I’d be as happy as I am. I’ll be 78 years old in a few months and for my age I’m doing reasonably well.
I suppose we think of dying much more than we did, my husband and I. There is one blessing to living in WA and that is we have the option of a dignified death. If a person has been given a prognosis of death within 12 months then they can ask for medication to avoid a painful and prolonged death. So I suppose that takes away much of the fear of the unknown. Of course whether one is brave enough to carry it out at when the time comes is another thing.
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