For most of my life, it’s been a groovy thing to play a supporting actress. As the fourth in a family of five girls, the role was an easy one. Be quiet, smile often, and walk in the footsteps of those that went before. Pretty easy gig, as my three older siblings were beautiful and smart team players who always did the right thing. All college graduates, they set the bar of expectations high. There was no real need to forge a different path, so I went along the one that worked for everyone else.
My life was full of situations in which the easy route was just that. Easy and obvious. Choices were limited by life’s boundaries. Moms could do this but not that. Wives needed to help provide a good lifestyle. Business partners share equally in ventures. Life went along well, because VST and I were the best of partners. Some dreams, like writing, just didn’t fit the narrative. Sometimes life is like that. Sacrifices made for the better of everyone involved.
In early March, 2020, it was obvious that VST was seriously ill, while we were in the middle of what some would see as a big mess. We had a solid buyer for the Dun Movin House in Virginia City, and we’d made a solid offer on Winterpast. With packing in full swing, VST came to me one morning with a request.
“Could we go see the new house? I know you’re busy with packing and all, but I really want to see it again. Do you have time?”
Of course, nothing was more fun than taking the hour’s drive to our new house in our new town, so off we went. I remember the ride there, talking about a lot of nothing. Details about the sale. Details about the purchase. Detail after detail after detail. VST was already feeling poorly, so an hour’s drive to and fro took energy and focus.
The new-house realtor was waiting to open Winterpast to us. Tree buds were swollen, although the grass was still brown as it was late winter. VST took his tape measure and tried to make some notes on his pad, but quickly stood by the kitchen island, uncomfortable and in pain. Measurements, numbers, and focus had started to become a problem he could no longer hide.
“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” the realtor asked, genuinely concerned.
He’d chuckled and assured her that there was nothing wrong with HIM. Nothing at all. Just old age. Waving both of us outside, sadly, he watched us through the window. Remembering this reminds me what a special husband I had for 32 years.
After our visit, we went for the best tacos ever at the stand by the Starbuck’s. To finish the day, we stopped at Sven’s Homemade Scoops for ice cream cones. The visit had made us love our new little town even more, and our excitement was noticed by Sven, who was the first person to Welcome us as new residents.
On the way back to Virginia City, VST turned to me and asked the one question that haunts me still.
“Will you be happy there?”
“Of course!” I reminded him that WE would be happy there, but inside, I think he knew better.
“But, will YOU be happy there?” he asked one more time. The question hung like a dark cloud over the Jeep, as we rode the rest of the way home in silence.
In three weeks time, he would be gone. I would still be packing and preparing for a move that most thought I should abort.
A little more than two weeks after he died, I did move. Roots immediately formed and started pushing down into the rich soils of Winterpast. As spring turned into summer, falling in to Autumn and settling into the deepest winter, I found my bearings and sense of home. All here in Winterpast.
I’m now starring in my own life story. As an old friend told me, the scariest part is the immense array of options. Being YOLD (Young-Old), the options are as different as sheer laziness played out day after day in a quiet house with Oliver, to turning feral and traveling throughout this big old country of ours. Gardening gives me time to reflect on the talents and gifts that I’ve been given and how best to use them.
I returned to the Senior Center yesterday. With even fewer people there than before, I went up to talk to the only gentleman that said “Hello”. He was assembling silverware and napkins for the lunch crowd. With a few questions, he gave me a schedule and introduced me to the director, who was preparing Orange Chicken lunch plates for the upcoming meal.
“Do you offer any writing classes?” I asked, waiting for doors that would open or close with her answer.
“Can you call me next week? I’ve been waiting for a guy that used to run classes here. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
Just like that, a little window of possibilities. Writers hang together. Surely there will be opportunities for friendships to grow. There is nothing better than a writing group, especially if you are lucky enough to run one. My spirit needed this little boost as I saw a possible leading role.
Leaving the senior center, the receptionist desk was again empty. As I was leaving, I heard music coming out of the hallway. One lone voice was giving directions. Tap. One. Turn left. Leg out. No, other leg. With all the directions, I had to look. Inside, 35 women of all shapes and sizes were doing aerobic dancing. Not intimidating dancers with curves in all the right places. Just Senior Citizen women like me that were sick to death of sitting at home and would try anything just to see another human being.
I’ll return to this center soon. Maybe even tomorrow. There is more to this place than meets the eye for this YOLD senior. As Ghandi put it so well, “Be the change you seek.” I need a leading role in my new life, and with a little work, I’m going to create it for myself.