WHEN I’M SIXTY FOUR…” 

“When I get older losing my hair/ many years from now . . .” 

Aging and the end of life are two of the very few inevitable realities in our existence as human beings. 

Even Moses, who, the Holy Book said, lived for 120 years was not able to stop aging or evaded death. 

Realizing that the years are catching up on me, I have started humming “When I’m Sixty-Four,” the 1967 Beatles song composed by Paul McCartney just to remind me of the realities I have to face as I grow older. 

That song is part of the Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album of songs whose lyrics were supplied to me by a dear friend and certified Beatles fanatic Al Mendoza. 

While the lyrics are all about the questions of a man directed at his woman, they could well be the concerns of the aging person on the uncertainty of the future. 

“Will you still be sending me Valentine/ birthday greetings/ bottle of wine?” 

One of the saddest realities that the elderly in society has to face is the prospect of being neglected by their children and sent to a home for the aged to wait for his time to be with his Maker. 

In the more modern and liberated societies now, families “deport” their aging parents to the home for the aged as soon as the first indications of their elders’ inability to help in the family chores are visible. 

This is especially true in America and many other Western countries. It is in these countries where the establishment and maintenance of wellness and retirement communities have become profitable business. 

I remember an office-mate years ago who complained openly about how her mother was already such a burden on her family as they had to care for her daily. 

“I really wish we had a home for the aged here in the Philippines,” she wished openly. 

“I could be handy mending a fuse/when your lights have gone . . .” 

“Doin’ the garden/ diggin’ the weeds/ who could ask for more?” 

At a little past 12 midnight Wednesday last week, I received a call from our eldest brother, Patricio, a retired police colonel. His voice was sad and I expected tragic news about mother. 

“Mother is not very well. I am bringing her to the hospital,” he told me. 

I could not help but be impressed at the love and concern my brother has for our mother who at age 84 is seriously ill with dementia. 

Her condition has worsened. Now, she could hardly see but still manages to hum a few old songs and call out the names of her children. After a few days in the hospital though, mother was back in my brother’s home feeling better. 

Three women, one of them a nurse, care for her and assist her every step of the way. I can tell that my mother, even when her cognitive faculties are in disarray, knows that she is loved and cared for. 

“Send me a postcard/ drop me a line/ yours sincerely wasting away.” 

How many mothers are loved by their children the same way my brother Pat and everyone in the family love our mother? 

The number of children who dearly love and care for their elders is the same number of children loved and cared for by their parents as well. 

We dearly love our mother, and our other elders too, because she showered us with love when we were children and she showed us respect for elders. In fact, even at our age today, we, brothers, still kiss the hands of those older than us regardless of their social or economic status. 

This symbol of respect for the elders has been embraced by our own children who kiss the hands of their parents and their uncles and aunts every time they meet them. It is such a beautiful sight seeing our children running around trying to kiss every elder’s hand during family gatherings. 

Will our children care for us and love us the same way we love and care for our dear mother? 

“Will you still need me?/ Will you still feed me?/ When I’m sixty-four?” 

Love begets love. When you show that you care, you will be cared. 

This is the universal truth that is just as real as aging and death.