Ageing Sucks

I hate ageing. No, it’s not the outward symptoms of ageing that bothers me - the wrinkles, the greying of your hair, the sagging of your skin – not that bit. I personally find that part of ageing endearing and to a great extent, liberating. It’s not what ageing does to your appearance, it’s what ageing does to your mind and soul that I find excruciatingly bothersome.

“Your father’s suffering from a natural degeneration of the atrial node,” his cardiologist informed us few years ago. Basically, that meant my father’s heart couldn’t go about performing it’s day to day business. We were helpless in the face of nature.

The word ‘degeneration’ took time to sink in and has never left me since.

Did my father know his end was near? I know I didn’t. He had a strong spirit that bounced back from death repeatedly in the past. We were in complete denial. He was in complete denial.

After spending the lockdown in fear, he was thirsty for life like most of us. He desired to spend time with his children, his grandchildren, he wanted to travel, eat and socialize in general. As soon as the lockdown and restrictions to international travel were lifted though, his body had started to give up on him with his vital organs deteriorating dramatically.

Still in bed in the ICU, my father’s wish list included: Malda mangoes from Bihar, pizzas for the ICU staff, an adult walker so he could bounce back on his feet and back to his usual, active self again. I’m happy to share that everything on his wish list was fulfilled. Except, sadly, for his steady desire to live.

Facing death makes you lonely, scared, angry. Are dying old people allowed to express remorse over their looming death?

My dad was about 80yo when he passed away. Everyone told us he died a good death and lived his life. But deep down I know he didn’t want to go yet. It was still too soon for him.

The daily round of intravenous injections and oxygen masks battered my father’s body aggressively while his spirit stubbornly remained undeterred. My mother, my siblings and I broke down in tears in separate corners of the hospital, away from my father. The nurses treated him like he was a fragile, new born baby. Yet, no one prepared him for the inevitable - not his family, not his doctor.

Everyone kept on pretending. The sheer allure of life was appallingly hurtful. At one point I felt we were deceiving my father but I played along too.

Denial was then soon replaced by pity and by now I was secretly praying to God to end my father’s misery.

That will probably remain the most disturbing part for me as I grieve my father’s death. I was no more praying for his quick recovery. I was praying for an end to his misery and we all know what that meant.

My dad became quieter – no more wish list to deal with. God answered my prayers. I returned home to Abu Dhabi when it happened.

My younger brother let me have one last video call with my father where dad asked me if I was flying down to Mumbai. I told him I’d see him soon, that I was on the way. I was. We were both smiling while controlling our tears. Hope. Dad and I were hopelessly delusional till the end. Or, did he know? Was he just comforting us? I never said my goodbye to him.

My dad lost his battle to nature because of a failing body. Not because of a tired soul that had stopped wanting to exist. I doubt I’d ever get over that.

Months after he’s gone, I now hurt from within as every ache that midlife brings with it agonizingly reminds me of my father’s struggles with ageing. Whether it is struggling to get out of bed because of lack of energy some days or it is having to adjust to my reading glasses. Ageing is frustrating. It cripples your body and your soul, stripping you of your dignity. Ageing is annoying, it sucks.

Above all these symptoms lies loneliness. Ever wonder how do the old feel in a fast-moving world? Ever observed the elderly frustratingly fidget with technology, trying to figure out the various apps that pop up every other day? Everything around is moving at a light speed and everyone around you is judging you for not ‘catching up’ with the times.

You watch life happening to others as you sit around - like a silent spectator.

To the good times - Dad’s trip to Abu Dhabi, my home, after the lockdown was lifted. That was his last trip too before he left us for good.