GETTING OLDER REQUIRES ONE THING — A PURPOSE

:”What a drag it is getting old …”

Mick Jagger was 23 when “Mother’s Little Helper” was a hit in 1966, and he was singing to a generation that was never going to get old. When asked by an interviewer about his future, he said that he couldn’t imagine sining “Satisfaction when he was 50.

Sir Mick will be 80 this summer.

And the kids who danced to that and other Rolling Stones songs are moving into their late 70s, and yes, it is a drag getting old.

Those of us fortunate enough not to be alone in the winter of our years find ourselves dealing not only with our own health problems but those of our spouse. And as much of a pain as that can be, we feel blessed to do so.

The alternative is so much worse.

I have several friends whose beloveds are either in full-blown dementia or slipping into it. I work my ass off doing crossword puzzles and other things to keep my own mind sharp, and my brilliant wife spends hours playing Sudoku every night as she waits to fall asleep.

Nicole was diagnosed with Lewy Body Dementia in late 2014 and we were told she would have one good year, maybe two before she would be in full dementia. Through the grace of God — no other explanation — it turned out to be a wrong diagnosis and she actually got better mentally.

My own health problems are almost all physical. When I was 20, I could hit line drives, sink 20-foot jump shots and throw 50-yard passes that were tight spirals. More than 15 years later, I made six strikes in a row and bowled a 222.

Not a great athlete, but proud to say I was a good one.

When I was 47, I laid down a perfect drag bunt and beat the throw to first base, although I did pull a hamstring in the process.

I truly loved playing sports. Now I walk with a cane and find myself fighting to avoid falling at least half a dozen times a day. My balance is mediocre at best, even for a 73-year-old man. At least a few times a week, I find myself rushing to the bathroom, not always successfully.

An accident I had the other day along those lines — you can thank me for sparing you the details — made me feel like I had reached the end of the life I wanted to live. I’ve always said I would be happy if I could live to 80 without being a burden and then check out, but that accident made me feel like even 74 would be pushing it.

But I’m not just responsible for myself. A person I love more than I ever thought I could love needs me to help take care of her. Last night was an example of that. She was having a horrible night and she awakened me at 2 a.m., and I was up until 4:30 doing things for her.

With one exception, the publication of my novel, 2022 was kind of a horrible year for me. From 2021 into the first part of the next year, I lost 85 pounds and got my blood sugar completely under control. But in early May, I suffered a really bad burn on my left foot and a hot cooking oil spill and was unable for the next seven months to walk the3-6 miles a day I had been doing.

I gained all but 25 pounds of the weight back and my blood sugar went haywire. Late last month, I had a blood sugar reading of 480, higher than anything I had seen before.

I got back after it, and have already dropped 18 pounds. This afternoon, when I took a pre-dinner reading, my blood sugar was 98.

Not bad at all.

Friends my age and older are happy to quote that old saying that getting old isn’t for wimps. That’s fine for them, but it is a truly awful feeling to have so many things I can no longer do. And sorry, but I don’t want to play pickleball or power-walk at the mall.

Other than reading or watching videos, there is really only one thing in my life that means much anymore. At the beginning of my novel, I had a very simple dedication.

“For Nicole, who makes everything possible.”

Yes, it is a drag getting old, but as long as she wants and needs me, I have only one real goal.

Keep getting older.