Walking Alone

Maybe it’s because I am well into my years that I pay more attention to those that are aging around me.  Like trying on a suit and deciding how it fits and if you are comfortable in it.

I see others struggling with the same things I am.  Physically, I’m not the guy I used to be.  While I once became frustrated if one of my parts didn’t work perfectly, today I am happy if enough of them work for me to be able to drive off the lot.  Begrudgingly and slowly I am making mental concessions to my age.

Psychologically, I am still strong, finding the best of what my life has to offer.  A lot of that I attribute to my wife, who for almost 60 years has shared that which has impacted our lives together.  Oh sure, we grouse at each other and spend more time trying to correct each others faults then we do appreciating the virtues that attracted us to each other in the first place.    However, our relationship at this point is as comfortable and dependable as an old pair of slippers.  The bond is something that is just there and we don’t give much if any thought to it ever changing.   It doesn’t occur to us that we have so much more than most.

I see around me those that have been left to complete the journey alone and how it has changed them.  Outwardly, they look and, for the most part, act the same.  But inside, there is an empty place that is no longer nurtured, hidden from view, but sneaking out from time to time in casual conversation.  Perhaps that is why we tend to hold our memories a little more tightly, polishing them frequently to increase their value.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to be alone.  Too many years as half of a team I guess.  Having worked out the rough spots several years ago, we now operate independently but cohesively, instinctively knowing what the other is going to do or think.  There is comfort in that.

I suspect the material changes, while important, probably pale in comparison to the emotional ones.  Suddenly all the decisions are yours and, although that is something you always thought you wanted, you find you are uncomfortable in the role.  You no longer have that person that knows you as well as you know yourself.  Who knows the right things to say and when to say them.  The one that strokes your ego and makes you feel like you have something to offer.  Someone to whom you are important.

I guess, as with all things, there is the good and the bad to walking alone.  The good is that you can do anything you want and no one cares.  The bad is that you can do anything you want and no one cares.

From the archives 2012

About oldmainer

I am a retired manager living in Southern Maine and a would be writer of poetry, narratives, short stories, and random opinions, and that's how Oldmainer was born. Recently, I decided to try an experiment. I added photography to the mix, using only a cheap cell phone with a limited camera and the editing software that came with it, and added the blog site Inklings at poormanspoet.wordpress.com to showcase the results. So, feel free to use whatever you find interesting or worthy, but please honor the terms of my copyright when and if you do. They may not be much, but they are still a piece of me. I appreciate your checking me out and hope that you find something that will encourage a return visit. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Aging, Beauty, Death, Family, Life, Love, Marriage, Memories, Perspective, Random Thoughts, Reflection, Relationships and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Walking Alone

  1. scifihammy says:

    I totally agree. You have expressed this very well. It is much easier to have someone around for support and to talk to, even if there are the odd squabbles.
    A friend of mine lost her husband suddenly over 30 years ago. She carried on because she had to, and though she is always positive, it cannot have been easy.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. quiall says:

    You look back on life that others have craved. You are very lucky to know how lucky you are.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. It’s a horrible thing. Believe me, I know. It’s not being alone, it’s not having him, there’s a difference. Alone can be a good thing, but alone without a choice, is not. I am not the same person and I never will be. First my son, then my 3 nephews and then my husband. How could I possible be the same? Waking dead. There are a lot of us, pretending that we’re still really here.

    Like

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