My parents’ transformation into people who just want to sit around and wait for the day (and, consequently, their days) to end is advancing. My dad has been there for years and my mother is steadily losing whatever motivation she had to venture beyond the town limits, apart from medical appointments.
^ Sad to hear. - My mom turns 70 coming February. But she is still a globetrotter. Covid made a little dent into her international travels, so she took up hiking on the local mountains (we are in Switzerland after all), and still goes strong. She voluntarily gave up driving in November (eyesight is still good, but she drove slower and slower, as if her Peugeot 1007 wasn't slow already.
Also she still works part time as she is bodily able, does nightwatches (per phone) as she is a 24/7 resident in a hotel. (She owns a 3-room flat there). Looks after the flowers and the decoration, and let's idiots back in in the middle of the night that went smoking outside without the key card in their pockets, that sort of thing.
But. She talks a lot about dying. She doesn't really fear it, but she can hear the clock ticking she says. She isn't depressive per se, but nevertheless it is theme in almost any longer conversation. I understand her in some way, but it does my head in.
Dad (they are divorced since 25years), at 72 years is absolutely fine. At the peak in his life, healty as a eal in brack water, busy tinkering on his house and splitting and piling firewood for the next 375 years and lives from day to day. - Never travels though. House, tools, garden, or those massive piles of firewood could vanish when one is not there for a day...