D

 A

For most people, life seems to taper off around 70–75. I’m 72, and I may end up living to 90 or beyond, like many on my mother’s side — though I’m not sure that’s a blessing.

It can be lonely. My friends began passing away in my fifties, and each year I lose another one or two. I’ve also outlived both of my husbands — one died at 72, the other at 67. At this age, you start living each day as though it could be your last. Even when you feel perfectly fine, illness can strike suddenly and without warning. Covid took a couple of my friends who had no underlying conditions. One day you’re well, and the next you might be gone. I suppose my only wish is that, when the time comes, I don’t see it approaching.