Time is not an arrow, it is a blow to the senses. One minute you are a sentient being, and the next you cannot open a bag of cheese. There is no strength in my hands or fingers. I find myself, more and more, using my teeth. Soon they will be down to nubs. I will have to gum my food.
I did not think 74 was that old, but apparently I have been mislead by advertisers. It is old. What irks me most is not the daily reminders of imminent decay, but the loss of word recall. "Anomia is a form of aphasia in which the patient is unable to recall the names of everyday objects." And wouldn't you know? They have made a board game of it. In the game, you describe an object and the other players have to guess the word. And that is more or less what conversations with me have become.
In middle age, a person's memory is reasonable. But as you age your brain becomes dense, like a hoarder's house. There are narrow pathways, but there is no way you can reach the broken aquarium under the cat in the Barbie dollhouse.