In my forties I was moving forward fulfilling my drive to be a community organiser/communicator/coach (my day job) and also a screenwriter (a remnant of my earlier training and work as a stage actor). Being there for my grown children and reveling in the bliss of holding my grandchildren was a part of growing old that I welcomed along with coloring books, card games and baking sessions where I’d let them lick the spoon.

Getting older was to be a time when laughter would come more easily as I learned to not take myself so seriously, to go with the flow, to explore new ways of enjoying life. I dreamed of finally pitching my screenplay to an interested and able producer, I dreamed of taking my grand-kids out for ice cream and engaging in general silliness that parents don’t always have time to indulge. Taking road trips, mini-vacations, going to lunch with friends, having folks over for potluck dinners, visiting museums in the city, witnessing graduations; all that seemed pretty tame and within reach during my golden years. The only extravagant item on my bucket list was to spend a week in New York and see a few Broadway plays. OK, a really extravagant dream was to visit the Harry Potter World. Apparently, one can get old and remain a nerd!

Illness has been a big part of my daily life for nearly two decades and at 64 years old, I have had to let go of the dreams I had for myself. The journey of reconciliation with life in a body that aged way before its time is not an easy one. After experiencing the known stages of grief over several years, I came out the other side feeling weaker and more physically fragile than I could have imagined.