Retirement unveils the loneliness that has built up over years.
Once I retired, the problems began: how old age exposes a solitude accumulated for a long time
I am sixty. For the first time in my life I feel as if I have vanished from my childrens thoughts, my grandchildrens lives, my exhusbands awareness, even from societys radar. Yet I am still here. I exist. I go to the pharmacy, buy bread, sweep the little courtyard beneath my window. Inside, however, there is an emptiness that grows heavier each morning now that I no longer rush to work, that no one calls to ask, Mom, how are you?
I have lived alone for years. My children are grown, each with their own families, and they live in different cities: my son in Lyon, my daughter in Marseille. My grandchildren are growing up, and I barely know them. I dont see them go to school, I no longer knit scarves for them, I no longer tell them bedtime stories. They have never invited me over. Never.
One day I asked my daughter:
Why dont you want me to come? I could help with the kids
She replied, calmly yet coldly:
Mom, you know the reason My husband doesnt like you. You always interfere, and you have your way of doing things
I said nothing. Shame washed over me. It hurt. I wasnt trying to impose; I simply wanted to be near them. And the answer was, He doesnt like you. Neither the grandchildren nor the children. As if I had been erased. Even my exhusband, who lives in the neighboring village, never finds the time to visit. Once a year, a brief birthday message a courtesy.
When I retired I thought, finally, time for myself. I would knit, walk in the mornings, take painting classes as I had always dreamed. Instead, anxiety arrived, not joy.
First came inexplicable attacks: racing heart, dizziness, sudden fear of dying. I saw doctors, underwent scans, MRIs, ECGs. Nothing. One physician told me:
Its in your head. You need to talk to someone, see people. You are alone.
That was worse than any diagnosis, because there is no pill for loneliness.
Sometimes I go to the supermarket just to hear the cashiers voice. Other times I sit on the bench outside the building, pretend to read, hoping someone will strike up a conversation. But everyone is in a hurry. Everyone runs. And I just remain, breathing, remembering
What have I done wrong? Why has my family turned away? I raised them alone. Their father left early. I worked day and night, cooked, ironed their uniforms, tended to them when they were ill. I didnt drink, didnt celebrate. Everything for them. And now I seem useless.
Perhaps I was too strict? Too controlling? I only wanted the best for themto become decent, responsible adults. I shielded them from bad influences, from mistakes. And now I am left alone.
Im not seeking pity, just understanding: am I a terrible mother? Or is it simply the era, when everyone is busy with bills, school, activities leaving no room for their mother?
People sometimes say, Find a man. Sign up on dating sites. But I cant. Trust has faded after so many solitary years. I lack the strength to open up, to fall in love, to welcome a stranger into my home. Moreover, my health isnt what it used to be.
I cant work anymore. Before, I had colleagues we chatted, laughed. Now there is silence so heavy that I turn on the TV just to hear a voice.
Sometimes I think, what if I disappeared? Would anyone notice? My children, my ex, the neighbor on the third floor? The thought terrifies me, brings me to tears.
Then I get up, go to the kitchen, make tea, and tell myself maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe someone will think of me, call, write. Maybe I still matter to someone.
As long as a sliver of hope remains, I am still alive.
