Just Can’t Fight It, Anymore

My husband is several years older than me, but as of my birthday last week, we’re both now in our seventies. I still feel much younger than that mentally – and I think he does, too – but our physical selves have been harping at us to accept reality. We are no longer spring chickens. We are, for all intents and purposes, old people. 

When I was growing up, the idea of getting old wasn’t even on my radar. During my 30s, 40s, and 50s, the notion of aging took shape, but it pretty much stayed on the sidelines, whispering that I wasn’t getting any younger. Over the past decade, though, old age stopped being a concept and gradually settled in as my new normal. 

It’s not so bad, really. I’m fortunate to be in good health, my sense of humor is intact, and I still maintain the faculties I’ve had for the past thirty years or so. I suppose that last one isn’t saying much, though. My brain has always played a bit loosey-goosey with the rules when it comes to being clear-headed. 

The main negative aspect of this stage of life for both me and my husband is our diminishing physical strength. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to take care of our property…a fact that really hit home this winter. Finding someone to clear the snow from our long, steep driveway has always been a challenge, and more often than not, we end up shoveling it ourselves. We take rest breaks and try not to overdo it, but it’s getting to be more than we can handle. And that has brought us to a decision I’ve been dreading: We won’t be able to live at the cabin much longer. 

My dad built this place for my mom back in the ‘80s. She had fond memories of the cabin where she spent her formative years, and she always wanted to live in another one. Once the cabin was finished, it was my folks’ home for the remainder of their years. They absolutely loved it here.

When I inherited the property, I was hopeful that we would eventually make it our home. It took some coaxing to get my husband on board, but after a major renovation, we finally packed up and moved into our little cabin in the woods. For the past eight and a half years, we’ve been blessed to be surrounded by nature and tranquility. It’s like having our own peaceful retreat.

To say the thought of leaving makes me sad is a gross understatement. It’s going to be brutal saying goodbye to the home I’ve come to love as much as my parents did. At times, I feel their presence here so strongly that it’s almost as though they never left. 

But I’m as practical as I am sentimental, and I know we can’t stay here forever. Our spirits may be willing, but our bodies are not. They are sore, tired, and cranky. Since we still have to rely on these bodies to keep us vertical and breathing, it’s best not to tick them off by forcing a bunch of physical labor on them. 

We’re not yet sure where we’ll end up, so our move isn’t imminent, but it will likely be in the next year or so. 

While I’m not looking forward to leaving, I’m committed to making the best of it. At our age, there’s no telling how long we have left on this earth, and it’s important to settle where we can live comfortably and enjoy the rest of our time together. 

As bittersweet as this is, I’m finally ready to start planning our next chapter.