For People Your Age...Apparently

My doctor said to me, “For people your age…” and it’s not the first time he’s done that.

I’m still not sure when that became a category I belonged to.

I don’t remember a doctor ever saying that to me when I was in my 20s or 30s, or even my 40s. No, it started in my 50s and it hasn’t stopped, instead at 60 it seemed to come up more often than not.

What do you mean, “My age?”

Today, my hubby was telling me about how he referenced a woman we both knew. He referred to her as “old.”

“Old?” I exclaimed. “She’s the same age as me!”

“Really? She looks a lot older.”

“Yeah,” I answered, “that is why I keep my hair coloured.”

That’s right. Somewhere along the way, grey hair became shorthand for “no longer worth noticing.”

As a leader of a non-profit, I served on many community councils and committees. I frequently watched as older women were sidelined and overlooked. I was co-chair of a committee that advised the mayor and council in one city and there were a few women like that. I always called them out and people were amazed at their knowledge and wisdom.

You’d think people in social services would appreciate that.

Nope.

And not only the men, but the women did it too.

I vowed never to stop colouring my hair. I wondered if I might change my mind in retirement—but now that I’m here, it’s a hard no.

I’ve told my daughter who is the one who will look after us when we need it…

“Don’t let my hair go grey and make sure you remove my facial hair!”

She laughed.

I was not joking. And it was not funny.

Some want to age naturally, and that’s fine, especially if you’re a celebrity with money and a platform. But for us average, everyday folk, nope. There is nothing natural about becoming invisible as you get older.

I’ve always liked being around older women. My mom was almost 40 when she had me and for a while I thought perhaps she was my grandmother, and maybe I was my oldest brother’s child. What a thought! You see, there were no photos of my mom pregnant with me. I was an oops 11 years after her youngest child. Well, more accurately, I was the result of a drunken bet my father made one night in the pub with his friend. Neither of them had daughters, only sons. They made a ridiculous bet over who could get their wife pregnant and have a girl first. I was born six months after the other girl, I forget her name now.

So, my mom and all her friends were “older women” and I found them fascinating. They always had great stories, advice, and were far nicer to me than my friends’ parents, who were much younger. They were more impatient, not wanting another kid around. My mom’s friends had grandchildren, as did my mom, and that’s how they saw me.

I’ve always wondered how my mom handled becoming invisible, until I realized she didn’t. She was a good friend to so many at her bowling club and at church. My mom did not work outside the home. My dad never wanted her to, and without much education—only grade eight—she likely would have ended up in menial work. I’m sure she preferred to stay home.

My mom wanted more for me.

And she got that.

Now that I am “that age,” I find myself grappling with what it means to grow older. All the aches and pains, the creaky joints. Chronic health issues and now cancer have given me a different insight to being “that age.”

I am grateful to have gotten to “that age.”

“Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you” (Isaiah 46:4 NIV).

“Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?” (Job 12:12).

This month, on the 23rd, I will turn 67. After surviving triple negative breast cancer, you cannot know (unless you do) how much it means to still be alive, still looking to accomplishing goals, still married after 44 years, and still learning and growing.

Many do not get this privilege.

And if this is “that age”… then I am grateful to be here.

Lord, you have carried me through youth, through strength, through seasons I thought would never end...
     and now into this age I did not quite see coming.
When I feel diminished, remind me that nothing of my life has been wasted.
When my body feels weaker, help me remember that my life is still full of purpose.
Teach me to hold both truths at once...
     the grief of what is changing,
     and the gratitude of still being here.
And if I am tempted to fade quietly into the background,
      give me the courage to keep showing up, with wisdom, humour, and love.
You have promised to sustain me even to old age.
Help me to trust that promise.
Amen.

Here’s some irony. I’m not imagining 64 anymore. I’m living well past it, with far more depth than the song ever hinted at.

Dear reader, thank you for walking through this stage of life with me. Some of you are already here, some of you are approaching it, and some of you are watching it in the women you love. However it finds you, I hope you remember this: growing older is not a loss of worth—it is a gathering of it. And if we’re fortunate enough to reach “that age,” then perhaps the real task is not to disappear… but to keep showing up. And if you haven’t yet reached “that age”—just wait. It’s coming for you as well. And, if you’ve seen me write about this before, well..you know…I am getting to that age! 🤭

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