My mom was the strongest woman I’ve known, not in physical strength, but in fortitude. Still, in 1985 she was diagnosed with six months to live. But being who she was, it didn’t surprise me she lived another 19 years.

My mom had inoperable small cell lung cancer, congestive heart failure, and severe osteoporosis. Although challenging for her, she never complained; her will to live was amazing. She simply refused to die until after my dad passed, then she joined him a week later.

How my mom managed with her condition is beyond me; she just accepted what comes with the joys of aging. I, on the other hand, will likely keep griping. However, toward the end of her life she said, “Janie Mae, getting old isn’t for sissies.” Now that I’m 71, I’m beginning to understand what she meant.

I’ve always been active. In high school I ran track and played basketball, was on a softball team for 10 years, enjoyed tennis, jogging, biking, hiking, bowling, kayaking, water skiing, and skydiving (but only once!). Today I just play tennis, walk my dogs, hike, walk with friends, bike on occasion, and use my Total Gym (when I’m not being lazy).

It’s so strange being the same age as old people. The first time I felt my age was in my early 60s. I blame Hilary because she convinced me, in my late 50s, to take up snowboarding. Pretty stupid on my part, right?

Now don’t get me wrong; snowboarding was fun when I wasn’t falling. But one day I fell so frequently, my butt resembled a kaleidoscope of colors. Following that, my back started hurting so I said so long to snowboarding. My souvenir? Four bulging discs.

I’ve had my share of injuries…broken thumb, fractured ankle, stitches, sprained wrist, dislocated kneecap (twice), and a nearly dislocated shoulder. But what intrigues me most are the perks from the joys of aging.

In my younger days, I believed a sure sign of old age is owning a recliner. But guess what? Yep, I love my recliner. In fact, I admit I’ve fallen asleep in it, so there you go; I’ve become legitimately old.

I now unconsciously groan when emerging from my BMW, which suddenly feels awfully low to the ground. Also, almost gone are the days of getting up off the floor without sound affects. Yep, good times.

In my younger years, I could hold my own with tequila shots; today, the thought of it makes me gag. These days I’m a happy camper with one lemon drop. Well, make that two and I’m a really happy camper. But I digress…

Then there’s the dreaded memory loss. Alzheimer’s is on both sides of my family so I figure I’m doomed, especially considering my already horrendous memory. Everyone who knows me is aware of it, but one day I might not be. So I’m guessing senility might be a smooth transition for me.

We’ve reached that age where my friends and I commiserate about forgetting where we put things, and losing our train of thought mid-sentence (which happens to be my specialty). Not to brag or anything, but I can forget what I’m doing while I’m doing it.

On a good note, I don’t need prescription medication, so there’s that. On a bad note, I have an abundance of vitamins I rarely take, but really should. Yet another fun reminder of aging, besides having white hair, is when you have upstairs ibuprofen and downstairs ibuprofen. (I have both.)

Anyway, when my time draws near, I hope I’ve handled the many joys of aging with my mom’s dignity, grace, and strength. There’s a quote that says, “It’s better to grow old with a sense of humor than to grow old with no sense at all.” The important thing to remember is, I’m likely to do both.