Aging Unpaired

Leilah woke up and the room spun as she began to move.

She turned her head, looked around, and pondered for a minute or two — "I hope I have more energy today."

She sat up, sighed, and reached for her pills and the glass of water on her nightstand. She swallowed her meds, jotting down the time and dosage in her notebook.

Leilah remained seated for another couple of minutes, grasping tightly at her knees and whispering a silent prayer.

Her body ached; the crepitus in her joints — the dry creaking sound of narrowed joint spaces — made her cringe. Her neck, back, and knees hurt.

She slid off the bed and stood, waiting a few seconds for the dizziness to subside.

"Okay," she thought, "better get going."

Leilah completed her morning routine and headed down to the main floor.

The house, which was once lively with her kids’ voices, her husband’s warmth, and the dogs’ playfulness, was now silent. The dogs were long gone, her husband had passed away a few years back, and the kids had grown up and moved away.

Going downstairs took effort. Gripping the rail, Leilah took each step with hesitation.

As she arrived on the main floor, she took a beat, slowly looking around, scanning the stillness.

She saw the dust on the furniture — cleaning the house was so hard nowadays. She tried, but the pain often stopped her halfway.

She proceeded to the kitchen.

Leilah rummaged through the fridge and the pantry — a splash of milk, instant coffee, crackers, and one single egg. “Better leave this egg for lunch,” she thought.

Her pension only came once a month, and she still had three weeks until the next payment.

She took the coffee and crackers to the living room and sat on the sofa by the open window.

Leilah sipped the coffee — bitter, a far cry from the fresh-brewed coffee she loved — and nibbled the stale crackers.

Outside, the rain fell, the scent of wet grass enveloped her as it drifted into the room through the open window — a smell Leilah loved. The skies were dark, even at that time in the morning.

Although the house was dark, Leilah didn't want to turn the lights on — the electric bill was yet to come.

As she finished her coffee she looked at her phone. She scrolled through social media — a small way of engaging with the world, even if only virtually.

Leilah was sixty years old, chronologically, but a lot older in biological terms due to multiple illnesses and her genetic makeup. When she saw people in her age group running, jogging, dancing, going to parties and concerts — she smiled, genuinely happy for them. But her chest tightened as she couldn't do the same, and she knew the comments she’d hear: "Oh, come on," “try harder,” “work through the pain.” Or worse — "I am older than you and I am dancing and swimming. Don't be so down!"

As if aging were the same for everyone. As if aging alone weren’t heavier.

They didn't understand how much it hurt Leilah when people said things like that. She felt diminished, unvalidated. Abnormal. Invisible.

She closed the app and tucked the phone in her skirt’s pocket. It was too depressing.

"What else can I do today?" she thought. Her closest friends had moved away; her kids lived far and rarely called.

She decided to go to the grocery store. A good excuse to get out of the house. No makeup. No jewelry, manicures, or hair appointments.

She got her cane, purse, and keys and drove to the store.

Shopping was hard, but she always pushed through. She grabbed a cart, even though she was only buying eggs, and placed her cane inside it. The cart alone helped give her support.

She spent half an hour walking through the store, looking around, touching things she would not buy. At the dairy section she picked the cheapest eggs, carefully inspecting the carton, making sure none was cracked.

She placed the eggs in the cart and continued to walk a bit more — "At least I'm getting some steps in," she thought with a smile.

On her way out of the store she ran into an acquaintance — older, toned, wearing biker shorts and a sleeveless top.

"Hi," the woman said with a radiant smile.

"Oh, hi!" Leilah replied with calculated effusion, which she had practiced several times. "You've been jogging today? In the rain?"

"Of course! Never stop," the woman replied, smiling. "You should come for a yoga session at the park.”

It was obvious from Leilah's posture and cane that yoga was not an option for her. Nevertheless, Leilah smiled and said — "Sure, I'll give it a try."

God forbid people perceived how depressed that made her feel. People didn’t want the weight of someone else’s loneliness. It was better to pretend not to see.

She had to be positive, effusive, enthusiastic. That is what people expected. What people wanted.

No one wanted to deal with someone who was depressed. Many people also felt uncomfortable around the disabled, and some didn't want to face themselves — their guilt for failing to approach or include a lonely and aging person.

Sweeping under the rug was best. Pretend they didn't know was easier.

They did know, even with Leilah's practiced smile and effusive greetings, they knew she was alone and isolated. But that was the way it was, and Leilah had come to accept that as normal.

They said their goodbyes, smiling like they had just won the lottery.

Leilah walked back to her car, placed the eggs carefully on the passenger seat, and drove home.

Back home, she placed the eggs in the fridge and sank into the sofa. She thought of calling a friend, then set the phone down. What would they talk about? Her mind went back to the woman with the thousand-watt smile and biker shorts who had just been jogging in the rain — a woman who was older than her.

She thought about the woman's toned legs. She pulled up her skirt and looked at her own — pale, flaccid, veined like rivers on a map.

She sat there for a long time thinking about her kids, her life, the things she wished she could do.

She sat. She cried. She wiped her face. Tomorrow, she told herself, would be different.

Today, she would simply wait for night to come.

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Note: Aging is different for everyone, unpaired. Solo aging is a challenge that many people don't see and don't understand. Isolation and disconnect are the main causes of suicide among the elderly, particularly solo agers.