I’ve worked with disabled people for so much of my life that getting older feels easier than it might have been. It’s a little daunting, to be sure, but I have so many role models. My disabled daughter and friends have shown me how to work around limitations of stamina, mobility and dexterities of one kind and another. Their flexibility and resourcefulness have inspired me for years.

In 2012, when I was “just” 54, I wrote this blog post about my elders. Now I am moving rapidly toward being an elder myself. I don’t mind  and though I can’t help feeling anxious at times, I feel prepared.

I was just diagnosed with osteoporosis. In an effort to forestall its effects, my doctor has prescribed a daily injection which I have to give myself. There was a time when this wouldn’t have bothered me. When Moy Moy was still with us, I handled a wide range of medical procedures for her – from inserting her feeding tubes to dis-impacting her bowels. Now, I feel squeamish even hearing about a tooth being extracted, a cataract removed, a wound being sutured. Giving myself an injection feels daunting and impossible. And yet, I know I have to do it.

My friend Vibha, who has also worked with disabled friends for decades, was in Japan earlier this year. On a hike, she stumbled across a small shop which carried a collection of odd little artistic items which seemed to her vaguely familiar.

“For some reason, I was drawn to what looked like a pottery studio as we were walking home from a bamboo forest. I saw some little things that were inexpensive but seemed a little amateurish. I bought a few and when I went in to pay there was a young woman with Down Syndrome who did the packaging and handled payment. I heard an adult crying and calling out – definitely someone with Intellectual Disability. Then I ‘asked’ the woman at the studio ( google translate zindabad) if it was a pottery studio for adults with disabilities – sure enough, it was. It made my hair stand on end and I got all choked up. So did she when I told her what I do. We couldn’t really understand what the other was saying but we both knew what the other was feeling. What were the chances?”

From that very shop, Vibha brought me a funny little pottery dish which makes me smile every time I see it. Its base is a little unreliable and it rocks gently whenever I put something in it: what a perfect object in which to keep the damned needles I now have to use every day for the next two years. Its wonky unsteadiness reflects mine and its sweetness reminds me of all the friends who hold me up every day of my life.

As Cavafy says in the poem below, “Don’t mourn uselessly, . . . don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes.” We will all come to this time. This is what it means to be human.

When suddenly at midnight you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don’t mourn your luck that’s failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive – don’t mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared and full of courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don’t fool yourself, don’t say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don’t degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and full of courage,
as is right for you who were given this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion,
but not with the whining, the pleas of the coward;
listen- your final pleasure – to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.
~ C P Cavafy

I don’t mourn my failing luck. With a little help from my friends, I really am “long prepared and full of courage.”