Mermaid & Walrus Revisited: “Growing Old”

  

C. 2026 Cheryl Keller, Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(3-26)

 

Note to Readers: Cheryl Keller is a local writer who sometimes offers content for this site. We have known each other since the middle 1980s.

 

She Said…

 

There is a certain amount of fear that surrounds the inevitable reality of growing old. A fear of reaching the end, a fear of the unknown…of dying. I think for some, too much time is spent in that fear - to a point where it clouds their present or redirects the way they live. For others, the view is much more positive, hopeful. The possibility of seeing loved ones again, of living pain and worry free is joyous and full of faith.

 

For this mermaid, it is a bit of both. There is absolute hope in the thought that loved ones will be there to greet me - those I have missed so dearly, and the thought of my aches, pain and stress being lifted is of course, wonderful. But I will say that there is sadness as well for the ones I will leave behind and not be able to see, talk to, or take in my arms. As I grow older these discussions in my head tend to get louder like the pink elephant in the room that demands my attention.

 

Now, I hope that I am able to live for many more years, but I do, on occasion, when I let my mind go there, harbor some anxiety as each year passes. For me, the fear of the mind being clear and active while being forced to quietly watch the physical body decline over time like a weed that has been sprayed with Round-Up, can be a bit frightening. I have this conversation with myself, telling myself that I’d rather just go quick - bring on the widow maker heart attack or dementia so bad that I don’t have a clue what is going on with my body and spare me the frustration of being trapped in a body that cannot do as I demand.

 

On the flip side, or as my husband likes to say “cup half full” side, as we age, sometimes our situations are better in life; hence the term the “Golden Years”. A lot of people are in a better financial position. They are well established in their careers having moved up the ladder and look back at earlier struggles with a sense of pride that they grew and were able to trade penny pinching for security. And for some, retirement age brings less stress, and the freedom of time returning to allow for more meaningful relationship building with friends and family, and of course finding time for fun, however you define that.

 

Being over 50 myself, no I will not say how much over 50 so don’t ask! I find myself stuck between a few of these schools of thought. As for health, it’s not exactly where I’d like it to be, but it is a battle in progress with mind and determination on one side and a tired, overworked body on the other. As for finances, those are much better, however it only leads into a different anxiety driven conversation - do I have enough to retire? How to leave a career 30 years in the making, walk away from the growth I have worked so hard on into another unknown, am I ready for the next adventure? But, that is a topic in and of its own for another time.

 

So, what fears do you have when thinking about the inevitability of aging? Is there more fear than hope and excitement? Or perhaps, like me, there is a little of both? Either way, it happens to the best of us, well, really all of us, so maybe that’s the answer…why waste precious time on worry and fear when there is nothing stopping this train? Maybe the answer is as simple as enjoying the time you are given and whatever happens, is meant to be.

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He Said...

 

My friend met in yonder days seems to have a particular skill for hitting the target with her own writing projects. They often resonate with me personally, as if we had discussed the subject material beforehand, which is generally not the case. Her most recent idea to revive this past series meets that standard with surprising effectiveness. Because I have also been pondering the march of time in my own terms. And making an attempt to center myself on its eventual conclusion in silent repose.

 

A few days ago, while enjoying adult refreshments on my front porch in Thompson Township, I posted a somewhat cryptic and introspective message on the Facebook site. Though offered without too much prior analysis or consideration, it soon produced several reactions that ranged from befuddlement, to worry, to expressions of friendship and human empathy. I probably should have taken more care in committing this public act. Yet in such moments, fortified with a cold brew, that is rarely ever the case.

 

“I am at the end. Body is failing, opportunities are few, allies have disappeared. But my craft continues. This is the best of times, and the worst. So be it, a blessing in disguise is no less worthy.”

 

To be sure, my health is not out-of-line for someone of a similar age and with a genetic profile sired by Appalachian heritage. I have seen many of the same afflictions which currently dog me throughout every day, in others of my brood. Arthritis, a tilt toward diabetes, poor vision, fatigue, and a general, low-grade depression that I believe must affect most creative souls generally. Unlike my talented and able friend, I have been off the grid, in employment terms, for almost a decade. Though in retirement, I have stayed busy as a content creator. Indeed, the separation from a regular work routine has made it possible to engage my labor of love more directly than ever before. It is a gift that I cherish.

 

Another post made on social media in the last week or so centered on my fandom for Hunter S. Thompson. As a wordsmith, he was rebellious, provocative, and for me at least, highly inspirational. But his exit from the mortal realm left me perplexed. I have never been comfortable with the idea that he perished by his own hand. It seems oddly improper for someone who faced so many challenging situations without any fear of harm or reprisal.

 

“HST has always been a personal hero. And also, a great disappointment. Because when his body became frail, he decided to end the journey. That is not a choice I would ever make. Let me keep writing until the very end.”

 

As my counterpart expresses in her own manuscript, thinking about the passage of years is an inevitable component of life itself. One must be fashioned from iron or steel to remain unaffected by the length and scope of this earthly adventure. Viewed with hindsight, which is said to always be 20/20, the road left in our wake is still, quite often, both memorable and educational. While I would have no particular interest in visiting chapters of my journey that have already been scribbled out and submitted for review, I do revere their value, from my present position.

 

To have better mobility, stamina, and mental skills might be wonderful in a certain sense. But all of these elements comprise the self which now sits on sunny days, outside at my wooden bench. Where neighbors pass, pets arrive for treats, and nature takes its course. While I am free to imagine subconsciously, flights of fancy that will eventually yield some sort of useful, literary output.

 

The Mermaid asks in her poignant query, “What fears do you have?” I can think of only one.

 

To be breathing and buoyed by a pulse, without having my keyboard, or cellular device, nearby. That would be a kind of terminal fate I could not envision, or embrace, by continuing to open my eyes.