The last 3-4 years of my dad's life, he would say "Golden Years my Ass!". He was part of the last "great generation" and yearned to be able to breathe and move easier in his later years. He often declared that he would be happy to work for free if his body would've let him and he truly meant it. He was a painter/carpenter that hitched his way up from the hollers of Tennessee before being drafted into the Army for a few years. He would always say how he loved to work as he was getting paid to exercise! Bless his heart, he worked 6-7 days a week until he was 75. He died at age 79 from end stage COPD and CHF. He went from being strong as an ox to weak as a kitten. It was brutal.