Retirement exposed the loneliness that has been building for years.
Once I retired, the problems began, I thought, as old age uncovered a solitude Id carried for 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 small courtyard beneath my window. Inside, however, a void 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 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 into their homes. Never.
One day I asked my daughter,
Why wont you let me come? I could help with the kids
She replied, calmly yet coldly,
Mom, you know My husband doesnt like you. You always interfere, and you have your way of doing things
I said nothing. Shame washed over me, and the words cut deep. I wasnt trying to impose; I simply wanted to be near them. Her answerhe doesnt like youechoed for both the grandchildren and the 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 yearly birthday message, as if it were a favor.
When I retired, I thought, at last Id have time for myselfknitting, morning walks, painting classes Id always dreamed of. Instead, anxiety arrived.
First came inexplicable attacks: heart racing, dizzy spells, sudden fear of dying. I visited 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 was worse than a diagnosis, because there is 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 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 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? I only wanted the best for them, to raise responsible, decent people. I shielded them from bad influences and mistakes. And now here I am, alone.
Im not looking for pity, just understanding: am I a terrible mother? Or is it simply the era we live in, where everyone has their own worriesdebts, school, activitiesand no room left for their mother?
Sometimes people say, Find a man. Sign up on dating sites. I cant. Trust is gone after so many solitary years. I lack the strength to open up, fall in love, welcome a stranger into my home. My health, too, is no longer what it once was.
I cant work any longer. Before, I had colleagues to chat with, to laugh with. Now there is only silence, so heavy that I turn the TV on just to hear a voice.
At times I think, What if I vanished? Would anyone notice? My children, my ex, the neighbor from upstairs? 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 there is a sliver of hope, I am still alive.
