If a person has reached the 60th year, he has already breached the entrance door of the so called “twilight years.” He must consider himself lucky already although in a way, dying at a young age or at full old age does not matter at all since one dies anyway.
Comparatively speaking, transcending the golden years up to the twilight years makes a little sense and is greeted with some kind of excitement. To a certain extent, there are token advantages too. One is to accomplish a lot of things one is interested in, something which a person has forsaken before because of prior concerns. With added years, he can trail that which escaped him like writing, spending days reading stacks of books, completing an artistic obra (a craft, , composing a song, rendering a painting, etc), seeing grandchildren grow, seeing fellow surviving peers, relatives or loved ones, pursuing another interesting vocation, getting a second romantic wind, extending more assistance, witnessing historical events, a whole lot more.
One prays for long life as if there is no life hereafter. Well, truth to tell, there is none actually. Hence, man wishes for more years to spend short of seeking immortality.
Of course, the drawback is a bit irritating. The more exposures, the more stress. The more stress, the more exposed to ailments. One becomes a loyal follower of drug stores and an ardent admirer of physicians. One’s breathing is limited and his capacity for longer attention virtually saddled with drowsiness. His suspicions grow more as years add on, suspecting science for prolonging life if only to sustain pharmaceutical companies. He lives in furtherance of business!
His eyesight becomes troublesome. His strength almost spent. His patience is to a certain extent controlled by the rate of his blood pressure. His glossy teeth become rickety and his smooth complexion begins to loosen. His internal organs are in a state of disarray. His mind begins to wander for forgotten terms. He may have a solution for greying hair by visiting the barber regularly, but his gait could no longer disguise that of an agile youth. He is lucky if he could still walk a mile without fidgeting for a chair.
Unlike before when he would indulge himself in the editorial page of newspapers, now he is reviewing the obituary part.
His invitation for longer trips has dwindled down to the minimum and attendance to parties no longer a regular feature of his schedule. He never attempts to stay late at night although it has been one of his routine in the past. He would rather spend longer periods at home where his room is a few paces away from the comfort room. He would rather be dressed lightly rather than wrap himself with accoutrements of ranks. Even if his mind is keener and analytical, he would rather read the whole day or compose something for his memoir.
For those who are in their twilight years, tomorrow has already come. Everything around him belongs to the past. He may jokingly refer to himself as an expensive wine or an exotic sandwich but what is clear is the fact that he has walked the sand of time and has shared himself among the creations which populated a planet.
He becomes a mere footnote whence before he was a headline.
His presence however cannot be ignored. From his blood would run countless generations ahead of him in the same manner that his forefather had contributed to mankind that which he one day would leave behind in a similar fashion.
Life goes on possibly up to the twilight years of humanity.