Old age was never meant to be an ending, but a season in which a woman could still hold fast. I recall my own grandmother, Eleanor, once saying with a sour smile, Growing old is no celebration; its an exam nobody prepares for. Most of us merely waved our hands away, telling her not to dramatise. Mother would add, At least the children wont abandon you. In her voice lay a quiet conviction, as if it were written into the very charter of the nation born, raised, and then assured of care.
Years slipped by, and Eleanors words grew louder in my mind, for they carried a bitter yet honest truth. Old age is not measured by years; it is measured by frailty, not by the strength of the body but by the fragility of hope.
Today many speak of financial literacy, personal boundaries, and independence, yet the moment the conversation turns to ageing it becomes a taboo, an uncomfortable whisper. Just slip away quietly, they say. The main thing is not to be a bother, Be grateful for the occasional phone call. If one dares to think of herself, she is called selfish; if she hoards a few pounds, she is stingy; if she refuses to sit with the grandchildren, she is betraying the family.
In truth the opposite holds. Caring for oneself is not betrayal; it is insurance that little, urgent suitcase of documents, water bottles and medicines that nobody ever packs for a fire, until it is far too late.
One can spend old age in peace, but not by hoping, by planning. And by remembering never to trust a promise, even from those you love. Do not believe the oath, Well never leave you.
A neighbour from the next lane, Margaret, once sighed, I bore three children, thinking Id never be cast aside. Now she cannot recall to whom she might mention her pressing worries a son working in Leeds, a daughter on the brink of divorce, another juggling school and work. All call, all love, yet the only companions on her bedside table are tablets.
No one meant harm; the children simply grew up. They now have their own families, their own priorities, and the hardest part is admitting they can no longer be the rock, neither morally nor physically. Not because they are unkind, but because life has reshaped everything.
The promise Well never leave you is not a plan, merely an emotion. Old age demands structure, not sentiment. Not If anything happens, well come, but Here is the schedule Aunt Rose arrives on Friday. Not Well sort it tomorrow, but Here is the contract with a caregiver for any acute need.
As Joan Didion wrote, Those who plan avoid the trap of chance. One must not wait for a son or daughter simply because you raised them. Better to ask early, If no one can help, do I have another ally? Or at least some provision? That is not cynicism; it is maturity.
Do not be swayed by the phrase, Well decide everything together. It sounds lovely, like a scene from a television drama where the whole family gathers around a round table to choose the best, most convenient route. Yet, gradually, the decisions become simplified. We enrolled the grandson without you you wouldnt have gone anyway. We put the new bank card in his name its easier to pay. We moved to the country you always said you wanted peace. And suddenly you are no longer a participant but a backdrop, a line item on someone elses agenda.
The problem is not malicious children; it is that the boundaries of an elder are rarely respected. It is deemed normal to manage an older persons affairs for her own good. As Ray Bradbury warned, The worst part of ageing is being stripped of the right to be an adult.
Without proper documents, a lawyer, a clear understanding of her wishes, a person can become stateless, even in her own flat, even among loving offspring.
Therefore one must consider early: if tomorrow you become inconvenient, will you retain freedom, or will everyone else decide for you under the guise of the best intentions?
Do not cling to the debtladen promise, You did everything for us. All your life you denied yourself the coat, the finer meat, the holiday all for the children. Yet when the moment arrives, few say, Thank you, Mother, rest now. Their lives are their own; they carry mortgages, fatigue, therapy, grudges. They often have little time for you, and that is not ingratitude but simply life.
Building old age on the expectation of gratitude invites disappointment, for gratitude is an emotion, not a guarantee. Waiting for it is as perilous as waiting for weather: sunshine one minute, storm the next.
Care is not currency. One should not tally the number of deeds performed, but gather what truly supports: knowledge, rights, money, connections. And never become the accusing mother who repeats, I did all this for you Love that turns into reproach is no longer love; children are not debtors, merely other people.
Do not idolise the image of the everpresent good grandmother who will sit, drive, give her last piece, and never complain, even when her legs ache. She has no right to say no, because she is expected to be the evergentle, everready figure. Yet that very expectation turns grandmothers into shadows, convenient yet unheard, never asked if they wish to travel, never noticed when they are weary, never inquired when they last rested.
People are respected not for convenience, but for being alive. One need not be good; one must be true to oneself, with the right to declare, Today I cannot, understanding that refusal is not betrayal, that selfcare is not selfishness.
A weary grandmother is not a gift; a contented one who lives by her own rules is the true pillar and example.
Old age is not a reckoning; it is life. No one promised it would be easy, yet ease is not obligatory. The aim is dignity, without shame for frailty, without guilt for boundaries, without fear to ask or refuse.
Old age is not an ending but a part of life where a woman may still be strong, not because there is no choice, but because she no longer wishes to be dependent.
Four anchors hold steady amidst the storm of caring for others:
financial independence;
freedom to decide;
the right to a private life;
boundaries and respect.
Children will grow, will fly, will be there if they can, but your life should not hang around their necks. Otherwise they will drown, and you will be left waiting for rescue.
May you have a home where you need not prove you deserve love, a call button for emergencies, a friend with whom you can share tea and laughter, enough cash for a taxi, and a warm sweater bought not for a discount but simply because you liked it.
May that old age be yours, not a shadow, but standing in the light.
