My grandmother was ill for months, and was in the hospital for weeks before she died. I was twenty, and I recall her asking me if I could see the plants and flowers trailing around her hospital room like a crown molding. I told her I could. I remember her grasping my hands, and telling me that she felt the same as she had as a girl, that her body had changed, but she had not. She looked into my eyes and I felt I could see that girl, at once a friend and a grandmother. I wish she could have been with me longer.
That’s a great story too. It’s true though. Our body ages but we are still the same person, that we were when we were younger. Instead of focusing on making people feel guilty about living to be old I would rather see research go towards improving quality and cures.