Giving myself a cursory look in the mirror this morning, I had a hard time finding my eyelashes. Putting my glasses on, I squinted, leaned in, turned my head side to side under the light and still nothing. Just a row of nearly invisible little wisps where, once upon a time, fluttery lashes used to live, even without mascara.

 I have also lost the ability to see my feet when standing upright. This might seem trivial until I try to step confidently into a pair of shoes and have to feel around for the shoe. It is not just that my stomach is a little more “out there”, blocking the view, but also because my balance seems to have gone. I remember a time when I could simply slip my foot into a shoe with all the grace of a ballerina. Now it is more of a tightrope circus performance, with flailing arms, wobbly knees, and sound effects that include grunting and groaning. I must put my arms out for balance when doing so lest I fall over.

 I can no longer just hop into a pair of jeans like I used to. Firstly, I need elastic waist jeans instead of the classic button clasp and zipper. I must position myself firmly on the couch and gingerly slip in one leg and then the other, taking my life into my hands as I try to stand up without falling. The elastic waist is the key to success.

 No longer can I skip down the steps all carefree and willy-nilly, like I used to in my younger, more nimble days. Back then, I could bounce down a flight of stairs with the enthusiasm of a Labrador puppy, barefoot, holding a hot cup of tea, and maybe even carrying laundry under one arm. Life was good. Now the stairs and I have entered a cautious, possible dangerous relationship. Each descent begins with a pause at the top where I assess the lighting, the depth of the step, check for potential hazards and mentally prepare myself for the journey ahead. One foot goes down. I test the step like it might suddenly give way before I let the second foot join. Yes, two feet per step, like a toddler. All of a sudden, I am afraid of heights, fearing a loss of balance, a tumble down the steps and a “Help, I can’t get up!” at the bottom. Tightly grasping the handrail, I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the bottom.

 My skin has lost its suppleness, which is no surprise there, considering all those younger years I spent basking in the sun with zero regard for sunscreen. Now, my past sunbathing decisions have come back to haunt me, and brown spots have popped up here, there, everywhere. My skin is all wrinkly, reminding me of my grandmother’s skin so many years ago. I do use moisturizer, but I would have to bathe in the stuff to reach all of the affected areas.

 I suppose, at this point, I should appreciate my diminished vision. Without my reading glasses, everything up close is a blur, including the skin on my arms. I need my glasses to see the time, watch television or read my emails. However, when I do wear them, my wrinkles look more like valleys.

 My memory seems to be going, too. I cannot count the number of times I have gotten up off the couch with great purpose, marched halfway across the room, and then stood there blinking, completely clueless about why I got up in the first place. Remembering names is a thing of the past, even of my own children. I frequently must go through all of their names before I get to the right child…Dinora? Francis? Angel? Marie? Oh, Steven!! One of the reasons I call Hubby (Hubby is so I do not have to remember his name).

 All of this gets back to where did my eyelashes go? It looks like they went the way of my balance, supple skin, and my memory. It is a good thing that Hubby is there to support me.