The vagaries of getting old

There's a lot of baggage that comes with getting older. When you're younger, you hear all about the changes your body's going to go through and how different everything will seem and how uncomfortable showers will be in middle school, but discussions of aging with children (understandably) tend to peter out around right around puberty.

Then you blow right through your teens only to discover (surprise!) that you continue aging even after that. You don't just hit adulthood, coast for 20 or 30 years until one night your hair turns gray and you are, in fact, old. There's a continuum, a process.

You figure that out, though. There's a certain point where it dawns on you that you will continue to get folds and wrinkles and skin spots. You'll find getting up in the morning takes a little bit more effort, getting into bed a night feels a little bit better, and some midnight you'll discover the pure agony of hitting the bar after work when all you really want to do is go home and sleep.

Theoretically. So I've heard. Hey, I'm not in college anymore.

The part no one prepares you for, the part that is so gobsmacking, is when your parents — who've been adults all their lives — photos of some nebulous "before you were born" period notwithstanding — start showing their age. Wait, you mean while I was busy getting older, they were getting older, too?

It's probably a little different for me. My parents were pretty old when they had me, as they've been retired since before I started college. They're the most active people in their retirement community — which isn't saying much — and are a "young 65."

They both exercise, go out and do things regularly, and my mom's even got an iPhone AND an iPad (which I get called upon to fix, over the phone, pretty much every other week). But I've noticed the last few times I've seen them that my dad has more trouble walking around than he used to. My mom has a little bit of trouble texting on her tiny phone, and squints a little so she can see it. Heck, next time I move I'm probably going to have to pay somebody to help me lug those 7-foot bookcases — and accompanying 14 boxes of books — up the stairs. No more free labor for me.
It gets at me because the thing my parents always stressed was adaptability. It's fine to know what you're doing, but it's even better to know how to handle yourself when the situation changes. They seem to have things under control even when stuff goes haywire. Frankly, they make it look easy.

Even so, it can be jarring when life catches up. The little things I noticed may help subconsciously prepare me, but it's still disorienting when the big stuff hits. When I got that phone call (nonchalantly, because my parents are weird): "Yeah, your dad got out of Christmas shopping when he passed out at the mall and they had to pick him up in an ambulance." When my mom sent that (poorly typed, let's be honest) text message that said, "I had to go the emergency room last night because I felt like I was having a heart attack. I wasn't, but it sure felt like it."

Now, I don't think my parents are in any immediate danger of dying, but I've a handful of aunts and uncles who have passed, all at younger ages than my parents are now. It's sobering every time you lose someone close to you, but none of those really hit home the way it did when my dad almost passed out a few weeks ago after he woke up (which I at least partially blame on the ridiculously hot and humid York weather).

It's an eerie parallel, because as I see them coping with the changes that come with aging, so too do I have to come to terms with the changes they're dealing with, on top of my own aforementioned "Hmph! I get tired earlier" nonsense.

Part of growing up chronologically means growing up mentally and emotionally, and learning to deal with these kinds of new — and sometimes scary — situations. All you can really do is hope that your parents (of all people) prepared you to be able to handle the unexpected when it crops up.

Unless, of course, it's Siri, which my mom still can't figure out.