Retirement exposes the loneliness that has been building for years.
Once I retired, the problems started, I thought, realizing how old age can uncover a solitude accumulated over time.
Im sixty. For the first time, I feel as if I no longer existfor my children, my grandchildren, my exhusband, even for the world at large. Yet Im still here, alive. I go to the pharmacy, buy bread, sweep the little courtyard beneath my window. Inside, however, an emptiness grows heavier each morning now that I no longer rush to work and 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 far away: my son in Lyon, my daughter in Marseille. My grandchildren are growing up, but 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 to their homes. Never.
One day I asked my daughter,
Why wont you let me visit? I could help with the kids
She replied calmly yet coldly,
Mom, you know My husband doesnt like you. Youre always interfering, and you have your own way of doing things
I stayed silent, ashamed, hurt. I wasnt trying to impose; I only wanted to be near them. Her answerhe doesnt like youextended to my grandchildren and my children, as if I had been erased. Even my exhusband, who lives in the neighboring village, never finds time to see me, sending only a brief birthday message once a year, as if it were a favor.
When I retired, I told myself: finally, time for me. Id knit, take morning walks, enroll in painting classes Id always dreamed of. Instead, anxiety arrived, not happiness.
First came inexplicable attacks: a racing heart, dizzy spells, a sudden terror 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. Youre alone.
That diagnosis was worse, because theres no medication for loneliness.
Sometimes I go to the supermarket just to hear the cashiers voice. Other times I sit on the bench in front of my building, pretend to read, hoping someone will strike up a conversation. But everyone is in a hurry, running everywhere, while I remain, breathing, remembering
What did I do wrong? Why has my family turned away from me? I raised them alone; their father left early. I worked day and night, cooked, ironed uniforms, tended to them when they were sick. I never drank, never partiedeverything for them. And now I feel useless.
Maybe I was too strict, too controlling? I only wanted the best for them: responsible, decent people. I shielded them from bad influences and mistakes. Yet here I am, alone.
Im not seeking pity, just understanding: am I a terrible mother? Or is this simply the era we live in, where everyone is busy with their own problems, debts, school, activities leaving no room for their mother?
People sometimes say, Find a man, sign up on dating sites. But I cant. Ive lost trust after so many solitary years. I no longer have the strength to open up, fall in love, welcome a stranger into my home. My health isnt what it used to be, either.
I cant work anymore. Before, there were colleagueschatting, laughing. Now theres only silence, so heavy that I turn on the TV just to hear a voice.
At times I think, What if I vanished? Would anyone notice? My children, my ex, the neighbor from apartment three? The thought scares 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 theres a sliver of hope, Im still alive.
