All of my life I’ve been responsible for something or someone. I grew up in an age without computers, cell phones, and even microwaves. My mom would open the front door and shoo her four sons outside where the oldest; that being me, would watch over them and not let them get into mischief. I was nine. Since that time, I’ve been responsible for bills, houses, children, pets, grandchildren and the location of the remote. I went to work for forty eight years with two companies. I managed millions of dollars and assets. Then I retired.

I went into retirement, kicking and screaming. I so didn’t want to retire. Even at age seventy, I felt that I could conquer the world. I was active, walked everyday at noontime, and joined kick boxing classes. I put off social security for as long as they would allow me. At last, my boss said that if I didn’t retire and take the half year’s severance then he would fire me and I’d get nothing. Sobering choice. My mom didn’t raise a dope. I took the severance. Still, I strung out my final day as long as they’d let me. R Day was the last Friday in March.

The first week of March 2020, I became deathly sick. I became light headed and dizzy, nearly fainting. They lit me up and sirened me to the emergency room. I was out of work, eating up my PTO the first ten days of my last month. When I returned to work on March 12th, everyone was gone. In the midst of my own misery, the arrival of Covid made its grand entrance. I wasn’t allowed back into the work place. I had to work from home. However, I rationalized that since everyone else was still in their jammies watching Oprah at home; then I should be able to come to the office and work alone.

I retired without fanfare at noon on March 27, 2020. My retirement party was cancelled, never to be rescheduled. All of my coworkers, vendor contacts, and friends were sheltered in place. I expected retirement to be a change of pace, but Covid put a new spin on that. There was no where to go or people to see. There are two things that I miss the most in retirement; socialization and critical thinking.

It’s quiet today at home. It’s just the dogs and me. They are asleep. The TV is off. Truth be told, I rarely watch it anymore. The only sounds are the occasional rattle of the ice maker and the tick, tick, tick of the only analog clock in the house. I’m alone. I’m often alone. Phone calls are few, replaced by text messaging. I wanted to burn downed branches except it’s too breezy outside. Randomly, I have thoughts about aging.

There is a saying that is heard at almost every funeral. “They are gone but not forgotten.” That’s slightly different with retirement where one is “forgotten but not gone.” All of the people I once knew, shared meals with, laughed out loud together, and worked shoulder to shoulder, have left me. It’s not on purpose. Their lives are still active. I think of a merry-go-round in the park. Everyone is on a horse going round and round. Then I got off. The ride didn’t stop. They waved their goodbyes and they left me behind. It wasn’t out of malice. It was out of the natural order.

Mickey Mantle, the baseball legend and hall of famer, once said, “if I had known that I would live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself.” Mantle came from a family where every male member died before the age of forty-four from Hodgkins Disease. Except Mick didn’t die. He never got the disease. Instead, he became an alcoholic. His celebrity allowed him to have a liver transplant before succumbing to liver failure. He was sixty-three.

As you age and become less active, you start to lose muscle mass. That leads to mobility and balance issues. I think the body dies bit by bit. We often think of heart disease or stroke, but the heart and the brain are but two of the body’s parts. Other parts begin to deteriorate long before those. Hearing loss, eyesight, dentition, arthritis, colitis, kidney failure, and muscle loss all happen gradually and without notice until it’s too late or almost. I struggle today to get back to where I was and it’s like shoveling sand against the tide. Still, I’m unready to give up.

Lastly, my mom said something that is so true. She was a hard woman at times. She grew up during the depression. Her husband of twenty three years died when she was just forty-two. She was stuck with five sons ranging in age from thirteen to twenty-one. She had no job or driver’s license. She never dated after dad died. She put out the going out of business sign.

Her sons grew up, moved away and had their own families. Mom endured life by herself. One by one, her friends died off. She survived multiple falls and battled cancer twice. By the age of eighty-eight mom was confined to a nursing home. I last saw her in that home on October 8, 2022. She was having a steaming bowl of she crab soup followed by a hot fudge sundae. Her family, son, granddaughter, daughter-in-law, and great grandson brought her those treats. She opined, “getting old ain’t for sissies.”

That November, mom’s life ended triumphantly. She was ninety-four. She wasn’t sick. She merely went to sleep. Aging is a process. It’s painful, but as rewarding as we want it to be. People go and few are replaced. I’ve gotten to the point to talk to older men at random and invite them to coffee just to talk and end the loneliness for us all, if just for a moment.