Don’t Tell Me I’m Not Old

A few years ago
my millennial neighbor
referred to me as elderly.
I must admit 
it was a gut punch,
but I knew she thought
she was being kind; 
after all, she hadn't said I was old.

When she said it,
I didn't feel old. 
I still went to work every day
and did all the usual things,
but she was my children's age,
and I know how I felt 
when I was in her shoes.
My parents were always old to me.
Elderly is just the polite form
of saying you're old.

Age is a funny thing.
My husband will start a story
saying, “Some old man...”
did whatever,
and I'll ask,
“How old was he? Our age?”
Sometimes he'll say, “Yeah, our age,”
with a sheepish grin. 
Other times it's, “No, probably in his 80s,” 
and go on with the story.

I remember my Dad saying
his mind felt like he was 35,
but his body felt every year after.
There are days 
I know the exact feeling
my father was talking about.
Then there are days
when I shake my head
and think, “Man, I'm getting old.”
I feel little aches and pains
from simple things like
getting out a chair after sitting too long,
or going down a flight of stairs.
I give more thought to railings
than I ever imagined I would.
Eight hours of solid sleep
is a forgotten dream.
There are doctor appointments
filling the calendar
and pill bottles in the cabinet.
When gathering with friends,
comparing medical issues and prescriptions
are common topics to discuss.
And let's not even start with
how the world has changed  
since we were young.

If I say aloud that I'm old, 
someone invariably says something silly like, 
You're not old!
or 
Age is just a number! 
Or
(possibly the worst thing, depending on the day,)
You're only as old as you feel. 

Just stop.
Please. 

Don't tell me I'm not old.
Old isn't a dirty word. 
Despite the drawbacks,
growing old is a gift
too many aren't blessed with.
There may be wrinkles,
but I've earned them honestly.

Even on the days 
when I'm feeling ancient,
and maybe a bit apprehensive 
of how much future is left to me,
I haven't haven't given up 
dreaming and planning.
There are places I want to visit,
things I'd like to do,
some are improbable, but not all.
There's life in these old bones yet.

Don't tell me I'm not old.
As a Septuagenarian,
I cannot realistically say I'm middle-aged;
no one lives to 140.
And that's okay.
If you're lucky,
you'll get to be old someday too.

~Elise Skidmore ©2025