Now into my so-called retirement, I’m noticing a change in my lexicon. A shift in the way I and my friends greet each other. Instead of simply saying ‘hi’ and ‘bye’, we are adding affectionate terms such as ‘sweetie’ and ‘darlin’. I love it and this morning when it happened at the end of a phone call, I got to thinking about why this was happening.
Many of my friends are now over 65. For most, it’s a life stage filled with joy, celebrating the extra time we have to plunge into hobbies, sports and travel. For me, it has been a time to pursue writing, a passion I’ve waited my entire career life to explore. More than ever, it’s also a time to cherish our families – especially our grandchildren. Most of us have learned the value of patient listening, watching instead of owning center stage, the wisdom that can only come with decades of problem solving. We know we cannot simply spell it out for others. The knowlege is hard earned - it comes with navigating life up’s and down’s.
Nothing sweet in life ever comes without cost. Most of my friends have lost at least one parent and probably a good friend or two, maybe more. Some of us have doubled or tripled our number of doctor visits, following up on replacement joints or new aches and pains. Many are on some version of cardiac medicine and may also have a stent or two - in my case, three. Falling, serious accidents have taken front seat as a real concern. We always need to keep an eye on time and distance because limited night driving is no longer a joke. Others have been disappointed to find their fantasies squelched by compromising realities, walks instead of runs, tennis doubles instead of singles, audio books in place of the traditional. And remembering punchlines - forget about it.
Aging requires extra doses of compassion – every day in fact. The only people who truly understand are our friends and family who are experiencing it with us. Our kids get it, but in a partially cynical, impatient way, as if they will someday be spared the indignity of not bouncing up from the floor, or hearing loss. As parents, do we ever get over our own ‘hero complex’? How much energy do we spend trying to deliver the perfect performance for our families? Generous, always there, always on the ready to help in any situation? And it’s not their fault. I saw the exact same dynamic with my parents years ago, helping my grandparents. The love and duty was there, but so were the jokes… And most of my grandparents didn’t live past 70. Maybe it’s a natural phenomenon.
So where do we get this compassion when we’re not lying on a hospital bed receiving it from the nursing staff who set the bar for TLC? If we're lucky, we get it (and give it back) to our companions, our spouses, and most of all, our girlfriends, our peers. We know the heartache, we empathize with the aches and pains, and we expect nothing back from each other. We gradually morph into the mothers we have lost, expanding our flock to include the many people in our lives we have brought close to our hearts. And we begin using endearments, just like a loving mother. Because we know those simple words have the clout to impart caring and extra love – just the extra jolt we need to smile and forge through another day.
Beautiful words, darlin’. 🥰