2025 A to Z Challenge Blog For the Letter Y

April 29, 2025 I’m finishing my second cup of coffee, debating what to do with the rest of my day. I’m hoping that when this day comes, I will have established a new routine, have reached a tolerable pain level, and while I know I will have to bite the bullet and rely on others to help me with most of the tasks I considered routine, I’m praying I will be able to focus on some reading. I have several books on my Kindle, but I also have the ability to listen to books on audible now. As well, I have a television in my bedroom and a Firestick that has Netflix, Disney + and Paramount +. I shouldn’t be bored, but I will miss my hours at the computer, vacationing in a world of my own creation. But, that’s neither here nor there.

Today’s letter is another one of those highly problematic ones. Although there are far more words that start with the letter Y, it’s still a difficult one to ponder over and spew words of wisdom worth reading. Still, I need to blog about something, so I’ll talk about years.

The older I get, the faster the years seem to go by, and lately, they’ve been moving through time with the speed of a car at the Indy 500. They’ve become a blur, and so has everything in them, with the exception of those events that burrow deep inside own minds and create memories, so good, some bad, some happy, some sad. In the words of Eleanor Roosevelt, “Today is the oldest you’ve ever been, and the youngest you’ll ever be again.” So, as I add another day to my age, what will I remember about it, about this year, about this decade? Probably not as much as I would like. Ingrid Bergman once said, “Getting old is like climbing a mountain; you get a little out of breath, but the view is much better.” But which view would that be? The one ahead of you, or the one behind you? For some, the passing years become more and more obscure. Dementia takes over and the present and the future give way to the past, and for some better, happier times. Others end up trapped inside bodies that no longer function, dependent on caregivers and families. My father died at 91. He fell, broke a hip and some ribs, developed pneumonia, and died. Her wasn’t 100 percent by any means, but he was aware of the reality around him. My mother died five years later at 96, but with the loss of my father went the ability to stay in this reality. She suffered delusions, dwelt in a world that didn’t exist, and let the years go by taking a little more of who she was each day. My biggest fear is having that happen to me. Maybe my writing will spare me since I have the means of shoving all those weird thoughts out now. Who knows?

Today’s song is one that I love. Enjoy!

See you tomorrow for this year’s last letter, Z. Here’s the MASTER LIST https://tinyurl.com/tauke86z