Zimbabwe Absurdity

My family has a bit of a chequered history when it comes to longevity. My mother’s family seems to live a long time or much less – there’s no middle ground. My mother died at 67 from cancer, he elder brother in his 70’s from another type of cancer and her oldest brother, Anthony, at 94 from old age. My father was an only child and was murdered at 53. His father is unknown and I have no idea what his mother’s age was when she died. My sister died four years ago at 62.

My mother’s younger sister turned 95 on the 4th of April and is in rude health. She still lives by herself (though has domestic servants and a tenant who rents a flat in part of the house) and gets around just fine on two walking sticks, though she doesn’t drive. Her mind is still super-sharp.

Yesterday we had a general gathering at her house to celebrate her birthday. It was a sizeable gathering and the weather co-operated, just. On arriving home Marianne, who’d had emergency work issues to deal with, told me that there had been 38mm of rain which is unusual for April.

I wouldn’t mind living to 95 if I could be as independent as my aunt; it’s not going to happen. Another 30 years, hmm, I don’t think I want that – just getting up out of a chair requires me to take unnatural concentration. When it comes to the end of her life my aunt confessed to Janine, her daughter, that she wants to “wake up dead”. Don’t we all.