Left Behind

“The trouble is, when a number…your age…becomes your identity, you’ve given away your power to choose your future.” -Richard J. Leader

Grief and loss have become normal, unpleasant pastimes. A challenge not chosen, but inevitable, during this period of life. This final chapter. This last phase.

So much has changed.

Until now, life’s curve balls had been generally anticipated, tolerated, easy to catch. The last few years have introduced an uptick in casualties, painting day-to-day living in shades of disruption and disarray. And, without warning, life manifests in bliss-filled delight. Like whiplash, immersed one moment in delicious experience, then blindsided, bracing for the proverbial ‘other shoe to drop’.

For the first time in my life, I am depressed. Not continually, but in surprising spurts, lacking at times, a clear trigger.

Each birth-year ending in zero, since age twenty, had a predictable rhythm and rhyme, a charted course with some semblance of control. What one would normally imagine happening sequentially…falling in love, maybe marrying, perhaps giving birth, building a career, making and keeping close friends…unfolded as though scripted, with only slight detours and deviations that occur in any given life. As though by design, there was generally a clear path, a predictable journey.

At age seventy, life began to unravel like a dropped skein of yarn.

My best friend from childhood, her beloved cousin, and my former husband, died within months of one another; I closed my psychotherapy practice and retired; several friends were diagnosed with cognitive issues, others with serious health concerns; two cherished couples moved south to escape the New England cold; the last of my sixteen aunts and uncles passed away; and, a friendship of over 50 years was waning.

The losses accumulated, piled on quickly. One after another. The weight enormous, like sinking in a cesspool of life’s filthy mud, without a lifeline. As soon as I assumed some measure of balance – a sense that I was standing upright and stable – the punch of life landed another blow.

In more lucid moments, I could rationalize that of course these events are expected to happen at my age. Loss, grief and transition are natural occurrences and are to be assumed. The body is in decline, friends die, careers end…but in my heart, I am still twenty-one…in my soul, I am immortal.

The signs and signals of aging are now vivid.

From my vantage point, my physicians look like teens.

Often on a plane, or in a restaurant, I am undoubtedly the oldest, except for those rare occasions when I am dining during an early bird special…or when attending a middle-of-the- day, middle-of-the week matinee.

As a younger woman, I was used to being noticed by men, and although the experience was often uncomfortable, annoying, and borderline concerning – I find now I miss that I can’t turn a head.

I used to run, now I walk. Joints have been replaced by metal.

My long, dark hair of the past, now thin, and a pale shade of gray. My fingers ache and struggle to bend from arthritis. In mid-sentence, I lose words. Remembering names, places and things that easily leapt from the tip of my tongue, now lodge in my throat as my brain is challenged to remember.

It may sound odd, but I was not prepared to age.

At times, I feel left behind.

In reaction, I implore my thoughts to stretch toward gratefulness, and gratitude. A difficult task when in the depths of sadness, however, achieved easily with conscious awareness.

The grateful list is immense, when I invite it in.

Three years ago, my grandson was born. And now…I have TWO!! That acknowledgement alone smothers any despair. Their Dad, my youngest son, makes me laugh, soothes my angst.

He gets me.

My firstborn, who taught me how to be a Mom, manifests a lust for life, curiosity, and unbridled kindness. He reminds me to turn lemons into lemonade, and embrace the gift of living.

My life partner of over fifty years is my cheerleader, my confidante, playmate, and best friend. Our values align and our compatibility merges on every plane. We’ve done the deliberate, difficult work it takes to each own the garbage of childhood, dragged and dumped into the center of our relationship, and like compost, fertilized a wondrous garden from which we continually reap the delicacies.

Friends are my source of most things that provide sustenance. Time spent in circles, in a personal growth group, or just an evening over dinner, drains any lingering pain from my heart, and lights new fire where the spark had all but burned out.

When I assess more closely what brings me joy, I am reminded…I am an accomplished photographer, a decent writer, and plan to take art lessons soon for the first time. I love to travel and explore new places. My curiosity about others, the details of their lives and their passions, bring me continual pleasure.

What was once just a passing appreciation of a colorful flower in full bloom, a small child toddling on the street, a painted sky at sunset, or a magical walk on the beach, now holds a distinct intensity and awe, new to my senses.

Emerging from the muted, bleak colors of despair, I employ to paint life in brilliance, thankfully reminded of the awesome gifts I possess when walking a cleared path, littered beautifully with only what I can control.

In the words of Mary Sarton, “I suppose real old age begins when one looks backward rather than forward.”

Imperative to remember as I traverse life as an ‘elder‘…..I alone make the decision on whether life is in front…or behind.