This is one of my grandmother’s favorite sayings. She will be approaching the age of eighty soon, and is in the process of finding a retirement home to move into. She is one of those old people who acts her age. She knows she’s old. She knows she doesn’t have a lot of time left. To be blunt, she’s downright depressed most of the time.

Her husband died three years ago. Lung cancer. Her oldest child is in the midst of an abusive relationship that has been going on for thirty years, while her grandchildren have only recently sought refuge in different states. Her second oldest (my dad) is battling his own troubles with depression, while her youngest is well on his way to following in grandpa’s footsteps.

I look at the pictures of her from fifty years ago hanging on the walls downstairs; she was beautiful. Dark hair, huge brown eyes, a gentle smile. I see the pictures of her with my grandpa when they first got married – he’s wearing his army uniform while she is in a tidy dress reaching well below her knees. Both wear beaming smiles for the camera.

Is that what life must come to? Happiness for a time, only to dwindle into depression as the years fly by? A carefree youth leads to a monotonous adulthood leads to a senseless old age of gloomy sorrow and regret.

I hope it isn’t this way for everyone.

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