Being 98

I met Evelyn when she was 89 and regularly attending a pool exercise class I was in.    I remember when she turned 90, and we all sang Happy Birthday.  She was still re-upholstering sofas, going on trips, and driving around  friends who were younger but more frail than she was.   And all this cheerfully, with a joie de vivre that was inspiring.  She'd been widowed about 15 years at that point,  but  although she still missed her husband, she'd gotten on with her life in a Big Way.  Trips, bridge club, volunteer work of all kinds, a wide circle of friends.

 She hasn't been able to come to the pool for several years now.  This afternoon, another pool chum and I went to visit her.  We found the front door of her house unlocked for us, and Evelyn herself sitting in a favorite chair in the living room, her  walker-with-a-seat parked nearby.  

I asked her how she was doing, and she smiled and said, "Oh,  gradually slipping," making a downward motion with her hand.  This despite her still-optimistic personality,  her mental sharpness, and her pluck.   It's hard for her to walk.  She's afraid of falling.  She can't drive or shop for food anymore, and cooking, which she likes to do, is a trial.  She has to hang on to the kitchen  counters to make sure she doesn't fall.   She watches a lot of television.  She rarely goes out anymore, though she has a large and supportive family that lives over the hill in Orinda/Moraga/Lafayette. The family wants her to hire a helper.  Evelyn can't figure out how this person would fit into her life. 

She lights up when she talks about trips she and her husband made, tours they took, the ships they sailed on.  I can imagine her in the 1950's, a tall, pretty woman with a ready sense of humor and a winning smile, given to graceful self-deprecation.  I remember that time, when people who would now be in their nineties (my parents' age if they were still alive)wore full skirts and high heels and hats. Evelyn mentioned "cocktails" several times in the course of her stories, and I thought about the cocktail hats of the fifties and high heels and pincurls.  She says she doesn't need photographs to remind her of those times; she has pictures stored in her head.

I'm thinking this is as good as it gets at 98.