When I was about fifteen, one day, my maternal grandmother was visiting my home and we were chatting when she mentioned how as she grew older, she found certain physical activities difficult.
“For example, I find jumping hard these days,” she said. “When I follow the exercise program on the radio, when it’s time to jump, I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t jump, grandma?” I frowned next to her. “You just need to hop, right?”
“That’s what I find difficult,” laughed my grandmother. “I try to hop, but my legs don’t seem to leave the ground.”
“Not at all?”
“Maybe a little bit,” she corrected. “But not much. I cannot jump like you do.”
“But why?” I asked as I pictured my grandmother jumping in her garden. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know,” she replied smiling. “But a moment like that is when I realize what it means to become old.”
I still didn’t understand why she couldn’t jump anymore. I wondered if I jumped next to her, her legs might leave the ground a little higher.