So I’m 65. Sadly, I’m HAPPY. Well, of course, for the obvious reason: I’m alive. But also because I am now on Medicare. Six years of paying for an individual medical insurance policy cost me and My Sweet Hubby (aka MSH) over $55,000. In those six years? I had six annual physical exams. No hospitalizations. (Yes—THANK YOU, Lord God Almighty.) No major illnesses. (Again—THANK YOU, Lord God Almighty.) But over $55,000? That’s alot.
It is not lost on me that we could afford to pay these insane prices for virtually useless healthcare. For that reality—that we had the money to pay the exorbitant premiums—I’m blessed. Seriously BLESSED. I totally get that.
For you younguns that may not know: Medicare isn’t free. It’s reasonable. (IF you’ve been used to shelling out $900 a month.) And that’s a lovely relief.
The REALITY of aging:
My back hurts horribly. (Had an MRI last week. Results soon. Praying it won’t be surgery.) My knees are awful. It’s difficult to walk at this point. I do walk—as
much as possible. I look like I might be drunk. (Trust me—not possible. I rarely drink and when I do? One glass of wine.) Or 90. (There are probably MANY 90-year-olds that walk better than I do. Sigh.) I pray I can be fixed to walk normal—SOON.
On the upside of 65?
I feel wise. I feel almost as smart as I was at...oh, say...50. The difference? I have no problem sharing my wisdom with you. Whether you want to hear it or not. And if you’re not interested? It’s fine. I’ll move along. I’ll try not to spend time annoying you. Winky wink.
I need and love MSH as much as I ever have in our almost forty-two years together. We help each other on an minutely(notawordI’msure)/hourly/daily basis. We laugh. We disagree. We get over it/past it. Because we understand how short life can be. (It’s truly getting shorter by the day.)
I cherish a good church sermon. The beautiful church we’ve been visiting the past three months has an orchestra and magnificent choir! The pastors and musicians? They bring on my tears with their gifts of inspiration. Every. Sunday. Without fail. (Sometimes they bring on MSH’s tears, too.) I’m unworthy of God’s unconditional love and forgiveness. (I’ve actually been crying in church since before Tracey was born. I get overwhelmed with it all. Especially hymns My Nana loved.) Now, in this church, at this point in my life, I cry from the first song to the last. I’m proud to be a Christian who acknowledges every flaw I have. I desperately want to overcome my bad attitudes, choices and behaviors. I want God and Jesus to be PROUD of me.
As a new 65-year-old—I need more time on this Earth. Pretty please! I’ve got things to do. People to meet. Books to read. Grandchildren, family members and friends to hug. And thank. And love.
When I was 30? I thought I was getting old. THIRTY. I believed 60 might see me six feet under. Because 60 wasn’t just old. It was ANCIENT.
Perspective. It’s all about perspective.
65? Go ahead. Give me some challenges. Aches and pains. Disappointments. Wrinkles. Go head, 65. I’m ready for you.
April? Yep. Ready for you, too.
Hugs to Y’all! New week! New month! Be. Ready. Okay?
ELC
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