By Mary Maki

While walking down the alley last winter, I came across a neighbor having difficulty stepping over a snow bank to cross the street. “Need some help?” I asked in a chipper voice. The day was bright and sunny, a bit frosty but beautiful. “Nah,” he scowled, hitting a snow chunk with his cane. “I don’t need help. I need a new body. But there ain’t any new models available… You’ll understand someday when you’re old like me.”

When the older man (over 75?) said this to me, I wanted to say, “But I DO know. I know how it feels to be tired all the time, to have lost my energy. To relive ‘the good old days’ - when I used to run. And ski. And bike.” But I don’t. Because he wouldn’t understand.

I fall silent when an elderly woman says, “Would you help me with the clasp on this necklace? I can’t see as well as I used to. You wouldn’t understand. You’re too young.” “Sure, no problem,” I finally blurt out, hoping my hands will work right. I want to say, “I hope I can do this for you. I can’t see as well as I used to, either. Sometimes my vision is blurry. And I’m getting cataracts because of the steroids I had to take.” But I don’t. Because she wouldn’t understand.

I feel sad when my 83-year-old mother tells me, “I just can’t remember things anymore! Just wait until you’re my age. You’ll see what the ‘Golden Years’ are like. They’re not so golden!” I want to say, “Mom, I know what it’s like to be forgetful too. I forget all the time. I forget peoples’ names, my keys, where I parked the car, the titles of books and movies, something I said or did last week. Or even yesterday.” But I don’t. Because she wouldn’t understand. It would frighten her. Like it frightens me.

But there’s one place I can go where other people  DO understand how it feels to sometimes feel “old before your time” - slower than you want to be, needing to take naps every day, going to the bathroom more often, losing your energy and your balance, not being able to see as well or walk as far as you used to, being able to appreciate what you once had – and lost. To feel that somehow we’re all in this together, and we might as well make the best of it. And yes, it’s a bitch; I didn’t ask for this, but I’m going to do the best I can. Somehow, I appreciate life more now, and I can’t exactly explain why. But I know you’ll understand. You’re my friends who know what it’s like to sometimes feel old, even if we’re not. And to know that other people don’t have a clue - because they haven’t been in our shoes. Thank you, MS support group. Thank you for understanding. And for helping me to understand.

This story © Copyright 1999 Mary Maki all rights reserved.