Clear Vision

This morning I dropped Mom off at her day care, and while I was driving home, a lens fell out of my glasses. This happens with alarming frequency, so I didn't panic. I simply removed my glasses and drove home, curiously fuzzy. I could have donned my prescription sunglasses, even though it was quite foggy, but since I can see without glasses, I just can't see clearly, I thought I would see how it felt.

I was able to fix them, with the help of strong light, a magnifying glass, and my sunglasses, so I'm back in business now, but the whole experience was a whisper from the universe. You see, I count on my glasses for everything. I can't read a lick without them. I can't see to dial my phone, or read a text. I had to disarm the house alarm by finger memory, not numbers. If I were to break or lose my glasses, I would be in a real fix. And my whole perspective would change, quite literally.

Whenever I am suddenly in the fuzzy world, it reminds me of Heidi's blind grandmother. I assumed, even as a child, that she was blind because that's what happens to old people. And it did, it does. Many people, as they age, lose eyesight, not necessarily become entirely blind, but vision seems to start changing pretty early. There are plenty of jokes about people in their forties needing longer arms or bigger print.

I imagine Heidi's grandmother's time, when people didn't have as much access to corrective lenses. As eyesight failed, it was no longer possible to thread a needle, weave a basket, bead or embroider. Large tasks like milking cows or picking fruit could still be done, but what about picking worms off the cabbage or building a stool, turning a spindle or  planting tiny seeds? One's usefulness would decline as eyesight waned and arthritic fingers became too stiff to bend.

Aging has always had its indignities. I see them daily with my mother, who was a beautiful, well-spoken, spirited woman who now suffers bathroom accidents, wears her clothes inside out, doesn't know where she is. The remnants of her former self are still there, but my heart weeps when I have to perform the tasks for her that she once did for me, when I was a tiny child.

The problems of aging are often hidden now, when families live far apart and old people are tended in special facilities. The conditions still exist, but we have been able to ameliorate them to a large degree today. Many people remain vital and productive well into their sixth, seventh or even eighth decade. One of the "fixes" for Social Security is to push up the retirement age, effectively demanding extended production from today's healthier seniors.

But IS 60 really the new 40? Maybe, for people who can afford it. Today I was reminded that if I could not afford to have glasses, no matter how defective they've turned out to be, I would be far less functional than I am. Every morning and evening I take a handful of medications and supplements, which I hope are buying me time as a healthy older adult. But if I had no health insurance, that would certainly not be the case. I would not be able to afford the preventive or emergent healthcare that I am privileged to have.

There are millions of Heidi's grandmothers in the world, and no small number of them in the United States. In my younger days, I lived hand to mouth, paycheck to paycheck, with no stability and no savings. I was haunted for years by visions of myself as an old, withered lady living in a third-floor walk up with no heat or air conditioning, eating saltines and cat food. It amazes me still that, small as it is, I managed to work a "real" job long enough to earn a pension and health insurance. People coming up behind me will probably not be so lucky.

With my glasses intact, I can still thread a needle, still type a blog, still see clearly the people I love. I am grateful for that. But I fret for the elderly poor and lonely. Who will care for Heidi's grandmother now?