Getting older can be depressing. Here’s how I cope with that growing proximity to mortality

It’s been a devastating month for our contact list.

A dear friend passed away unexpectedly. Another suffered a serious stroke. A third fell following a routine joint replacement and broke his leg. An in-law shattered her elbow while crossing the street.

This list doesn’t include folks outside our immediate circle who we know are battling horrific diagnoses or struggling with declining spouses. Nor does it account for friends with chronic health problems or those who experienced crises earlier in the year.

I dread hearing conversations that begin with the four gawd-awful words, “Did you hear about ... ?”

Fortunately, no one in my immediate family was involved in this current spate of medical emergencies. But we certainly aren’t immune. Our clan has had its own frantic trips to the hospital or doctor-prescribed periods of bed rest.

Yet this time feels different. The numbers seem unusually high. The problems are far more severe. The outcomes are increasingly bleak.

Statistics may explain part of this phenomenon. If you roll dice over and over, you’re bound to get a string of snake eyes.

But I think this trend is more than a random occurrence.

The average lifespan for a man in the United States is 73 years old. For a woman it’s 79. The majority of our acquaintances either see those milestones fast approaching or recognize them in the rearview mirror.

Our circle of friends tends to be fit and healthy. Most exercise regularly. Few of them ever smoked. Their waistlines are trim. They have hobbies and friends. They have access to health care.

Still, the calendar doesn’t lie. Each of us is running the final miles of our personal marathon. I no longer read an obituary for a person my age and think, “How sad. They died way too young.” Instead, I quietly acknowledge, “They lived a good, long live.”

That’s why a wise friend of recently told me, “We need to stop being surprised” when we learn of contemporaries’ deaths and health problems. This is where we are in our lives.

Many folks find this fact depressing. They resent that they’re aging. They dislike that their bodies are different. They’re engaged in a constant struggle to stem the onslaught of advancing years.

Me? I don’t share their reluctance. I cherish the perspective I’ve gained from my years of experience. I identify with the stages younger people are passing through and empathize with the challenges they face along the way. I relish my role as our family’s matriarch and the status it infers.

Of course, my increasing proximity to mortality is ever present.

It takes me longer to get up and going in the morning. I fully recognize I could die tomorrow. But that has always been the case. Life never had a warranty. Instead, I’ve learned to walk hand-in-hand with uncertainty, remembering that life is precious, that every second is another gift.