Sylvia, age 6, with her brother, and my dad, David, age 3
Word from Aunt Sylvia who, a few weeks ago, went with her husband Ellie to what she calls "an old age home." Sylvia turned 95 in September, and Ellie was 99 in July.
Sylvia does know how to turn a phrase, so here goes...
"I am now in the land of walkers and wheelchairs, and people of another planet. I am having trouble watching all these lovely people waiting for God.
Ellie hates it, unfortunately, but he really belongs.
They are very kind and helpful here... Well. So be it. We have outlived all our friends and most of the family."
And they fight on, Sylvia and Ellie, married for more than sixty years. They fight on in a world that is dedicated to appeasing youth as if it were feeding years, like raw meat, to a lion.
Those who live to be closer to 100 than 50 deserve not just our respect, but to finish out their days in a tropical retreat with fresh fruit, white wine, and overflowing fountains.
No one really belongs in an old age home. Time doesn't make us, we make time. If a civilization may be judged on how it treats its poor, its infirm, and those who are advanced in age, then we must cower in shame.