Retirement has lifted the veil on a loneliness that has been building for years.
Since I retired, everything fell apart, I hear myself say, as age exposes the isolation that has accumulated over decades.
I am sixty. For the first time, I feel invisibleto my children, my grandchildren, my exhusband, even to the world. Yet I am still here, alive. I go to the pharmacy, buy bread, sweep the little courtyard beneath my window. Inside, however, a hollow emptiness grows heavier each morning now that I no longer rush to a job, and no one calls to ask, Mom, are you okay?
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 getting older, and I barely know them. I dont see them walking to school, I no longer knit scarves for them, I no longer tell them bedtime stories. They have never invited me into their homes. Never.
One day I asked my daughter,
Why wont you let me visit? I could help with the kids
She replied, calm but icy,
Mom, you know the truth My husband doesnt like you. Youre always interfering, and you have your own way of doing things
I stayed silent, ashamed, hurt. I hadnt tried to impose; I only wanted to be close to them. Her answerhe doesnt like youwas echoed by both my grandchildren and my children, as if I had been erased. Even my exhusband, who lives in the neighboring village, never finds the time to see me, sending a brief birthday message once a year as a courtesy.
When retirement began, I told myself it would finally be time for meknitting, morning walks, painting classes I had always dreamed of. Instead of joy, anxiety arrived.
First came baffling attacks: heart racing, dizzy spells, a sudden fear of dying. I consulted doctors, underwent scans, MRIs, ECGs. Nothing. One physician told me,
Its all in your head. You need to talk to someone, get out of the house. Youre alone.
That was worse than any diagnosis, because there is no medication for solitude.
Sometimes I go to the supermarket just to hear the cashiers voice. Other times I sit on the bench outside my building, pretending to read, hoping someone will strike up a conversation. But people are in a hurry; everyone rushes past while I simply 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 uniforms, cared for them when they were sick. I never drank, never partiedeverything for them. And now I seem useless.
Perhaps I was too strict, too controlling? I only wanted the best for themto be responsible, decent people. I shielded them from bad influences and mistakes. And now, here I am, alone.
Im not seeking sympathy, just understanding: am I a terrible mother? Or is it simply the times we live ineach person busy with debts, school, activities, leaving no space for their mother?
People sometimes say, Find a man, sign up on dating sites. I cant. Trust has faded after so many solitary years. I lack the strength to open up, fall in love, welcome a stranger into my home. My health is no longer what it once was.
I cant work any longer. I once had colleagues, chat, laughter. Now silence reigns, so heavy that I turn on the TV merely to hear a voice.
At moments I wonder, 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, head to the kitchen, make tea, and think 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.
Retirement Unveils Years of Hidden Solitude.
