We see the questionnaires and surveys, little boxes where you mark your age:
Nobody’s very interested in learning more about us after seventy. We begin to disappear with secrets yet unknown, stories untold . . . forgotten. Beauty changes. There comes awareness of impending death. No close for most of us, though we have all lost friends our age, or would have been. It’s waiting for us somewhere up the road, still a ways off. nut one becomes a little more aware. How many years are left? At times exciting. Three decades more or less and we will learn the truth . . . at last. Worth dying for. And if we check out early we at least avoid some grief, the loss of spouses and good friends. Sometimes both in one. How many years are left? One thinks about it. Life comes a bit more serious, less stressful if we’re lucky.
This is a work in progress. Thoughts I want to share may be your own as well . . . or not. More follows. Would love to hear what others feel at Seventy.