Today, I attended a funeral for one of my aunts. Two of my other aunts were also in attendance, including one who is age eighty-five.
My eighty-five-year old aunt is very nimble. I watched her jump out of her vehicle, while I was concurrently struggling to get out of mine.
When we went to the cemetary, she was several paces ahead of me. I was gasping for air, just trying to walk at even a slow pace. My gate was ataxic, too.
These observations were very sobering. I’ll be fifty-five next month, thirty-one years younger than my aunt. I couldn’t help but think about what my level of disability will be, should I make it to age eighty-five myself.