Old age is like a bank account...

It happened three years ago. This 92-year-old, petite and well-poised lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock with her hair fashionably coiffed even though she is legally blind, moved into a nursing home. He husband of 70 years had recently passed away, so the move was necessary. After several hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready. As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I described her tiny room to her.

                                                            Photo by Karsten Thormaehlen

"I love it!" she said like an eight-year-old receiving a puppy. "Mrs. Jones, you haven't even seen it yet?" "That has nothing to do with it," she said. "Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged. It's how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it. It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice." She went on to explain, "Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw from what you've put in. So my advice to you is to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories. Thank you for doing your part in filling my memory bank. I am still depositing."