Retirement has finally exposed the loneliness that has been building for years.
“I’m sixty now, and for the first time I feel invisibleto my children, my grandchildren, my exhusband, even to the world,” I say. Yet I am still here, alive: I go to the pharmacy, buy bread, sweep the little courtyard under my window. Inside, however, there is an emptiness that 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 live far awaymy son in Lyon, my daughter in Marseille. My grandchildren are getting older, 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 over. Never.
One day I asked my daughter,
Why wont you let me visit? I could help with the kids
She answered coolly, Mom, you know why My husband doesnt like you. You always interfere, and you have your way of doing things
I stayed silent, feeling ashamed and hurt. I wasnt trying to impose; I merely wanted to be near them. Their answerhe doesnt like youapplied to both 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 I would finally have time for myself: knitting, morning walks, painting classes I had always dreamed of. Instead, anxiety arrived.
First came baffling episodes: a racing heart, dizzy spells, a sudden fear of dying. I consulted doctors, underwent MRIs and ECGsnothing. One physician said,
Its in your head. You need to talk to someone, see people. Youre 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 in front of the building, pretending to read, hoping someone will strike up a conversation. But everyone is in a hurry, running everywhere, while I just 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 their 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? Yet I meant well, hoping they would grow into responsible, decent people. I shielded them from bad influences and mistakes, and now I am left solitary.
Im not looking for pity, only for understanding: am I a terrible mother, or is it simply the age we live in, where everyone is busy with bills, school, activities, leaving no space for their mother?
Sometimes people suggest, Find a man, sign up on dating sites. I cant. Trust has vanished after so many solitary years. I lack the strength to open up, fall in love, or welcome a stranger into my home, especially as my health declines.
I cant work anymore. In the past, colleagues provided chatter and laughter; now there is only silence, so heavy that I switch on the television just to hear a voice.
At times I wonder, What if I disappeared? Would anyone notice? My children, my ex, the neighbor on the third floor? The thought scares me to tears.
Then I get up, go to the kitchen, make tea, and think maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe someone will think of me, call, writemaybe I still matter to someone.
As long as a sliver of hope remains, I am still alive.
