Getting old, feeling his strength diminishing, thinking more in the past than the future, seeing my friends disappear one by one ...
Seeing the youth stand up to leave their seats when I boards a bus ...
Seeing my hair in the mirror becoming more and more white,
No longer be able to run as long and as fast as before and quickly losing my breath after few hundred meters,
No longer feeling anything but tenderness at the sight of the beloved,
Thinking with nostalgia of the happy times when I looked forward to future projects.
A French song of the 80s, "Becoming old", sung in 1988 by Denise Grey when she was about 83 years old, comes to mind:
We cling to the past
Like ivy on a wall
and the frozen mirrors
Remind us of injuries
Of time passed too quickly
Laughing of our skin
The heart is crumbling
As the stones of a castle
It is like a candle
That you forget to turn off
Which burn a lifetime
So that we can paint
On the walls of our eyes
Everything we have learned
Day blue, gray days
This is also to get old
And when like a bird
We feel the departure time
Wings flush with the back
One off history
This is not what hurts
It does not even cry
It's not hard to leave
When you no longer want to stay
At age 20, or even 40 years, one year more or less, it does not matter. But in my age (soon 84), each week matters. Since a few months, I have some problems with my short term memory. To ensure that my clients do not realize it too much, I have to take notes after each phone call and after each meeting. I prefer to send emails rather than calling and I print out all my emails to keep track of.
And yet, despite my concerns, I feel young, very young, and I relive in my dreams every night episodes of my youth. I see myself as I was 20 years old, my first encounters with girls (and boys), the early days of my marriage, the birth of my first son .....
Whoever said "life is like a long quiet river" was very wrong to say, at least for me.
When I will be a little less rushed, I will take the thread of my story, abandoned for almost 3 months, for my pleasure and, who knows, perhaps for yours.