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I can’t remember how old I am

The old man was sitting in the doorway of an ancient house, much older than him.  We were in Albocassor and the day was blisteringly hot.  I stopped to talk, together with my 80 year old mother who felt and looked young by comparison.

There was the whiff of neglect coming from inside his corridors, but he was eager to talk, to communicate and it was crushing.  His gnarled mottled face stared out from the darkness like an eager dog.

I asked him how old he was and he replied, I don’t remember, I don’t remember my age, maybe 90, but I don’t know.

People, locals stopped and stared. They probably thought I was taking advantage, but for sure he enjoyed the moment and wished it could have gone on for longer.

There are so many like him in the villages around here and actually it is because they have not been tucked away in some old age people’s home. But still you feel the loneliness and it frightens me,  Old age.  Is it any wonder? Of course not, but as someone once or even may times said, think of the alternative?

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