Until We Are

I don’t know how old Robert Browning was in 1889 when he penned the famous words:

“The best is yet to be.”

Despite my pleasure in the optimistic prediction that I have quoted incessantly for decades, I no longer believe his words are valid.

I realize the famed poet was born in 1812, seven decades before he wrote the memorable words.

However, that does not mean he was yet “old.” We all reach that stage in life at individual and distinct periods of life.

If there was a rigid line of demarcation for one and all, perhaps we would be more prepared for the rigors of old age.

It shoots up like a daffodil bud without warning. One morning you realize one of your vital parts is off key and dismiss the annoyance as a fleeting episode. However, it isn't too long before you admit reality and know you have stepped abruptly from the calm serenity of middle age into the quicksand of old age.

At first you are tempted to doubt reality. However, as the days and oft sleepless nights move quietly ahead in time, you soon comprehend you have said adieu to youth without a goodbye.

And in my case, I was totally unprepared for the road that lie ahead.

And perhaps that is not so dreadful since it eliminates the fear of the future. The comfort of youth is the blanket nature weaves to keep us warm during the rigors of winter and old age.

The memories of laughter and love and adventure form the insulation that permit life to continue until we, too, are called home and rescued from infirmities.