Aging faces

For many, many years I would look at myself in the mirror and see the same person I’d seen the month, the year, even the decade before.  Conscious nonetheless that people do not look the same at 40, 50, 60, as they did at 10, 20 and 30, I told myself this sameness was an illusion, that I must be changing and, since I felt as I always had inside, I must be fooling myself about my exterior—except for my gray hair, which has been noticeably transitioning from dark brown to salt-and-pepper to something approaching steely, for 30 years.  Then suddenly one day, not long ago, I saw someone looking back at me who was familiar, but not exactly the same, as the “long-time” me. I’ve completed my fifth decade but am still not feeling any declines interiorly, still no arthritis or other signs of the inevitable (except for the fact that I just can’t wear high heels like I used to!)  maybe a little more ready to seek opportunities to rest, certainly heavier than I was in the prime of life, but that’s about it.  

There is plenty of interest in the exterior manifestations of aging in the profession of cosmetic surgery, the beauty products industry, and among forensic artists. It turns out I have plenty of material of my own with which to examine the phenomenon. Below is a series of photos of those close to me by blood, history, or happenstance. I tried to pair images from young adulthood with ones as close to the present, or, in several cases, as close to the end of life, as I could. The shortest span is Winston the cat's 21 year life; the longest span is 66 years, my mother's (the first pair). Most are between 30 and 40 year spans.
What do you see in them?

 It happens to us all.