Spaces in your togetherness

When Wife and I were married, the clergyman who did the honors (this was Tartuffe, in case you wondered) inserted a bit of poetry into the service. He selected a passage from Kahlil Gibran, a writer I had scarcely heard of though I did know that his stuff was madly popular in the 1970's. I have forgotten most of the passage, but the one line I remember is, "you shall be together ... but let there be spaces in your togetherness."

Wife and I never learned how to do this. But, quite without remembering anything about Gibran, we kind of managed it with Son 1 and Son 2. Or at any rate I think I did.

The key was sending them off to boarding school: Son 1 to Hogwarts, and then (a couple years) later Son 2 to Durmstrang. Before that, when Son 1 was in eighth grade, he and I were already starting the difficult act of colliding with each other that happens not infrequently between fathers and teenage sons. I would ask him to do something, and he would blow me off in the casual way that he had long used with Wife but never before with me. We'd disagree about some obligation of his, and he'd make it clear that he really didn't give a shit what I thought. I know, I know, this is normal. That didn't make it easy.

Where not to retire

Just now I googled "best places to retire" and I got 87,900,000 results. Clearly this is a phrase that people have written about a lot.

Look at the listings, and you find travel suggestions that circle the globe. "Best cities to retire," "best states to retire," "best countries to retire." Then these choices are broken down by what exactly you are looking for: golf, beaches, health care, low cost of living, or avoiding taxes.

Mother has talked about retiring, and has asked me where I think she should move. She has clients who have moved to this place or that, ... so what would I think if she moved to this place? Or else maybe that place? She could sell the house easily enough—never mind that there are boxes in the garage that haven't been opened since she and my dad bought the place 50 years ago—and be on her way, free as a bird. 

I get it. I never thought I would live all my adult life in one place, but I more or less have. So when I lost my job last year, you heard me fantasize about traveling far away—maybe finding a job in Timbuktu, or joining the Peace Corps.

But we're all idiots. Every single one of us who fantasizes about retiring far, far away.

"Are you going to live alone the rest of your life?"

When I talked with Debbie a couple of days ago, one thing she asked me was what plans I had made for how to live when I get really old? I told her I've made no plans. Intellectually, looking at Father's decline over a number of years and at Mother's state today, I recognize that the options are basically two: either I drop dead unexpectedly, or I will in time get feeble and need help. But I've given no thought and no planning to the topic. (After all, I'm only 60. And it's not like my friends or classmates have started dying yet!)

Of course her question was because Debbie herself has started thinking about moving into a retirement home or care facility, if not now then later. But then she asked "Are you going to live alone the rest of your life?" And she speculated that the answer might be Yes.

Mother is aging

When I started this blog, I talked about Wife. But we are separated now. Then I started talking about Father, but he's dead. And I've talked about my kids and my girlfriends. But maybe I should say a couple words about Mother.

[By the way, I realize that the parallelism in that first paragraph looks ominous, almost as if my writing about someone is a way to get him or her out of my life. But if you look closer that's not true: Marie and Debbie are very much part of my life still, and I write about them a lot. And I wish my mother a long and happy life yet.]

When I started this blog, Mother was just about the age Debbie is today, maybe a few months younger. Today she is in her eighties. She has been living on her own since Father died, which was seven years ago.

Debbie is discontent

A couple days ago I had a phone call with Debbie. She is discontent with her situation at home, and we talked about that. But over dinner that evening I made notes to try to remember what we had discussed, so I could write it up here, and I realized the conversation connects to a number of other topics I could talk about independently. So this single post here may end up spawning up to four others. Let's see how much stamina I have.

As background, remember that Debbie is currently living in a house that she bought for her daughter Mattie, along with Mattie's husband and their two sons (Debbie's grandsons). The idea is that now, while the boys are little, she can help with them as a live-in grandmother. (And wow, let me second the idea that parenthood is too much work for two people, so additional help with young children is always a blessing!) And in the future, so runs the plan, when Debbie is getting old and frail, Mattie and husband can offer her their help in return. It's clear and logical.

Only now she is having second thoughts.