At some point it will be too late

Most people are not afraid of dying.

They are afraid of never having lived.

                                   Rabbi Harold S. Kushner

I write about divorcing over the age of 60 and what that life is like. I’ve made oblique references to the aging bit, but never head-on. Why would I? Why would anyone over 65 address aging? We all know we will age and die. But who honestly believes the process of aging will happen to them? I didn’t. I never considered the reality of living in a body that would betray me daily.

The culture tells me that with the right exercise, correct diet, good mental health habits etc. I can slow down, even halt the deterioration of my body and mind and just wake up one day dead. For most of us, it doesn’t work that way. Rather it is a slow slide toward the inevitable. We don’t slide at even paces, but the destination is the same for all of us.

I’ve been divorced three years. The fog of shock, rage, and grief over the loss of 37 years of my life is only beginning to lift. It’s like emerging from emotional hibernation. There is a limit to pain tolerance. Reaching that point, the heart shuts down and goes into a form of suspended animation.

I’m stumbling around a bit, squinting at the light, and halfway wishing I could go back to sleep for several more months, but that’s not one of the choices. Life compels us to wake up and be alive for as long as we can.

A mutual acquaintance introduced me to a nice man. He’s pleasant, soft-spoken, and taller than I am. Most men aren’t taller than I am so this in itself is a new experience. After a couple of dinners, I call my 42 year old son. I do this because I have no clue how to tell my adult children that their mother is dating. I decide to go for the easy one first. One doesn’t spring this sort of news on a daughter with five children in the house and expect anything good to come of it.

Hi Chris, it’s Mom.
Hey Mom.
Son, I met a very nice man and we’ve been to dinner a couple of times and…
DO I KNOW HIS MOTHER!

He’s been saving that one since he was sixteen.

Chris is onboard. He thinks this is a fine thing even if he doesn’t know his mother. Since I haven’t been on a real date in forty-plus years, I have questions. Chris lives in California where they know about this sort of thing. So I ask my questions and he does have answers. I raised that boy right.

Closing out the conversation with one last question, I say "…or should I be coy?" There’s a pause and in a voice that’s tender at the edges, he says, "Mom, there isn’t time for you to be coy. Go and have a good time, and do it now. Go do it now."

As I shut off the call, I realize something has shifted in our relationship. Together we faced the unspoken truth that I am growing old and will die sooner rather than later.

But I won’t die today; no, not today. Today I’m going to see True Grit with a nice man who is taller than I am.