I visited my uncle this past Saturday. He turned 95 in August. He wrote a 40 page memoir, centering on his WWII experiences. His hand printing is clearer than mine. My niece will type it up after I proof read it. Some pretty strong stuff in there about D-Day.
My uncle still lives on his own, close to his granddaughter and her five kids. He drives only during the day, stopped taking his blood pressure medicine and exercises his upper body, stretching two rubber pulleys attached to a door and wrist grips. Up until he was 88, he golfed regularly. Sometimes his old company will send a driver to pick him up and bring him there for some accounting work.
He was an engineer in the Army, building a number of bridges. Back home, he became a supervisor at some plant, went to Rutgers at night and eventually got his degree. I still ask him for financial advice. The hearing is not all there and I have to speak up, but he's still pretty sharp.
His apartment is filled with family photos, including his eight great grand children. In addition, there are many cards and photos of friends and their kids dating back many years. I guess he outlived them all. His wife died in 2007 at 87.
He has his 'war room'-- one wall covered with maps of the various troop movements and attack plans, and a computer filled with blown up photos of his parents and grand parents, dating back over 100 years.
What does he think about at night, lying in bed? Are there so many memories he has trouble choosing? Or have too many vanished, leaving holes he tries to fill, piecing together gaps in time? He was a success at everything he did and now he's elegantly handling extreme age. We should all be so fortunate.
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