Living Single

As an older woman living alone, I have come to recognize the significance of the unconditional love and support my father provided during his lifetime. Raised in a family of six- mother, father, three brothers, and myself as the eldest and only daughter—I have observed that the unconditional love of a father has played a notable role in shaping my acceptance of life circumstances. While living alone is not my preferred situation, I have reached a level of acceptance regarding my life.

A Father’s Love

Reflecting on my father’s love, I recall with loving memory, how my father always called me “baby girl.” I loved that term of endearment.  After my mother died, he lived with two of my brothers, daily sitting at the kitchen table listening to the talk shows of that day on the radio. I often visited after work to read the Bible to him. Although I selfishly didn’t want him to remarry, I remember an incident my brother’s told me of their arranging for a woman to visit our dad, after which he was found stupefied, standing against the wall in the hallway. He was barely able to speak and needed help to the bedroom and bed.

Reflections

Thinking of him brings a smile, a chuckle, and a gentle happiness to my heart, knowing he loved me and cared for me unconditionally. Even when he was upset, as he was when I cut my hair, he simply glanced at me, muttered “ssshittt,” and walked away. When it came to my forced teen age marriage due to pregnancy, he refused to give me away, insisting, “I will not give her away to anyone.” Back then, once a pregnancy became known, the mothers of the couple handled the details—planning the wedding and deciding where we would live. In my case, I moved in with his mother and sister (not a pleasant experience). As for my ex’s stepfather, I never met him; he was serving in the military. His father was a Louisiana “rolling stone.”

The marriage lasted a little over two years, during which time my ex completed a two-year Navy tour; long enough for me to become pregnant a second time. My obvious unhappiness and a long weekend visit from our Berkeley apartment that should have been an overnight stay for my two-year old son and a pregnant me at my parent’s home caused my father to offer me a proposition ‘You can remain with us here; however, if you ever go back to him, you can never return to stay” I never went back to the ‘bast turd’.  No, I’m sorry, he is the father of my two sons.

More Children

I have to admit that I actually have two other children, my son’s brother and sister. I love them both. I accepted and welcomed my son’s siblings into my home. My youngest ‘son’ as a pre-teen felt so comfortable at my home that one day he came over and couldn’t get in as no one was home. He broke in, climbing through the bathroom window. Laughingly, I told him “My darling, please, never break into the house again, just wait until someone can let you in.”  As a grown man now, he often expresses his love, and I love it!

My father often gave all three of them odd jobs at his place of business, a restaurant and bar that he built himself, with the help of other relatives.

Love: The Experience

The experience of male unconditional love has deeply influenced me. Because I’ve felt what true love is, I can quickly recognize insincerity in others and know when affection isn’t genuine. This understanding shapes my friendships as well; at times, I feel an even stronger bond with male friends than with female ones. I’ve enjoyed remarkable friendships with men, including the comedian, Paul Mooney. My ‘play brother, D’ was a significant figure in my life until his passing. We talked most every day. Through relationships with others and the ups and downs of life, he and I remained close. He stood by me through my mother’s death as well as two of my brothers, one of which was murdered. And I stood by him when his mother died and sadly when his partner died in Costa Rica while on a training mission toward emerging herself in Spanish for her self-owned business purposes.  They say it was Dengue Fever. I didn’t inquire further.  One instinctively knows, with friends, when not to question any further.  At least four other close male friends have also passed away—I miss them all, very much.  There is something about the male point of view regarding life that is unique from my female friends that is uniquely different. It seems that once the ‘sex thing’ is taken out in the relationship, a good male friend is perfect for me.

One Silken Shoe

Looking back over my 85 years, there was a time when I felt like that ‘one silken shoe,’ standing alone in the closet among the many pairs.  As years go by, more women who once had partners and lived as pairs, now find themselves in my situation.  Although it often seems harder for them to adapt to being on their own. Some had happy marriages/partnerships, or so it appeared; others stayed simply to avoid loneliness. Is enduring worthwhile? For some, perhaps it is. Ultimately, I realize that unconditional love in friendship and in love matters most to me—yet it’s something I’m still searching for. Then again, maybe I’m being unreasonable, maybe I’m looking for something that asks too much of love. Maybe at 85 years it will never be. Maybe….

Unexpected Reminders of Loss

I’ve come to realize that aging often brings with it unpredictable reminders of loss. Sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere, a memory will resurface that can overwhelm us, breaking through the emotional defenses that have been carefully constructed over years of managing difficult feelings. These defenses—what I think of as the “mattresses of protection,” a phrase borrowed from my favorite movie, The Godfather—are meant to shield us from sorrow, but occasionally the sadness beneath seeps through.

A Routine Trip to Costco

I recently entered Costco with a straightforward mission: to purchase paper towels. Growing up, we never used them; instead, we relied on cotton kitchen towels for all those various kitchen needs. But today, paper towels have become indispensable, nearly as essential as toilet paper—a product that became even more valuable during the COVID pandemic. I was fully aware that retailers place high-demand items, like the $4.99 rotisserie chickens, at the very back of the store to encourage shoppers to make additional purchases on their way through. Despite this awareness, I was still unable to avoid the strategy and ended up spending a total of $175.

The Lemon Tree Encounter

As I walked in, ignoring the tempting bulk-priced items to the left, I found myself drawn toward the pallets of garden products. There, on my right, was a display of lemon trees. The trees were heavy with plump, golden lemons, their fragrance cutting through the otherwise stale air of the warehouse. The sight and scent hit me unexpectedly, and I felt an emotional reaction rise of tears threatening, but I refused to let them fall. The memory of searching for the perfect lemon tree to plant in the backyard of my long-lost home swept over me, filling me with a profound sense of longing and loss.

Memory and Acceptance

I stood motionless, able only to gently touch a branch weighed down by the brilliant fruit. Holding it softly in my right palm, I was mesmerized by its beauty, and for a moment, I imagined it growing in the backyard of my memory. Determined not to give in to the tears I felt swelling, I reminded myself of my present reality: I am now an older woman living in a small one-bedroom apartment in a city far removed from the one in my memory, though thankfully near my son. I told myself to move on, to continue toward the paper towel section at the back of the store. Though I did not allow the tears to fall, their presence was there—a silent unexpected acknowledgment of loss. I gathered myself, reclaiming my public façade, and walked on.

A key life lesson I’ve learned over 85 years is to face moments that challenge your beliefs.   The aging process offers these moments too soon and too often. When a family member, friend or the media cause you to ask yourself, “is this really true; did I make a mistake, or am I really losing it?” Well, a case of this dilemma happened to me ‘once again.

l woke up one morning and found two decks of cards strewn on the living room rug of my apartment. I stood looking at the decks wondering how did they get there from the bottom shelve of the bookcase where they were originally stored?

I stood kinda stunned! I took a picture of the wayward decks because I wanted, no needed to mark this occasion in my memory “was this a big marker of my decline?” I knew hadn’t gone to bed with decks of cards lying on the rug in an ‘not paying attention moment’ as I could trip and fall. And anyone knows that falls are a major hazard for the elderly. I have at least two friends in my age group who are dealing with the repercussions of falling. Bruises, broken bones or worse, in my humble opinion, concussions which may lead to other concerns regarding memory, etc. The recovery process for falls can be long and arduous as older bones may be more brittle taking longer to repair.

I told my son when he came over and his take on the cards was” maybe you walked in your sleep and took the cards out.” My immediate response was “I don’t walk in my sleep.” He asked, “Mom, then how did the decks end up on the floor?”  “Do you think that someone broke into your apartment and placed the cards there or accidently bumped into the bookcase causing only those two decks to fall out onto the floor, then lock the door, from inside, behind them? I stood aghast and started going through my compromised with age memory and tried to think of another excuse for the cards being there. 

I did remember a discussion with my friend with whom I ride to church. She told me that during a Christmas holiday gathering a Monopoly game with so many family members had caused them to pay only $20 when passing “Go” in lieu of the $200 required because there were so many members playing. She smiled as she talked about the laughter and fun of running out of the Monopoly money causing her to think about ordering Monopoly money only from Amazon or the like. At the time I thought about offering her the money from my ‘not played forever’ Monopoly game stored in the bottom shelve of the bookcase. I decided to wait before I offered because that was a game that my family loved to play and I would offer to loan her money if she needed it again. 

Could I have walked in my sleep? Could I have moved the card decks to get to the Monopoly game and neglected to return the cards to their proper place? Certainly, no one had broken into my apartment for that purpose. Well, I decided, this is just another effect of growing older. So you walk in your sleep too! “What else, dear God?” 

Well, dear readers, the mystery has been solved! My son agrees that I probably didn’t walk in my sleep regarding the mysterious deck of cards; however, the answer is perhaps much worse, the mice are back! Or perhaps never left my apartment. The assistant maintenance person had brought me a device that you plug into an electrical plug unit that blinks a red light that is “supposed” to send out a sound that causes mice to run away. It seemed to be working. No mice or signs of mice in the kitchen, their favorite place to rummage. 

The other afternoon, I discovered signs that the mice or mouse had returned. They, or it was eating the floorboards in the kitchen leaving crumbs of plastic on the floor around the dish washer. I called the lease office who sent the contracted exterminator over. He laughed at the blinking light and said he knew occasions where mice would poop on top of the device and keep foraging. 

My son came over after work to support his aging mother plagued with mice. I was on a Zoom call with my church members and motioned for him to wait a few moments for the meeting to end. He reached for the jar of mixed nuts I have on the bar (I only use a folding table and chairs when needed, the bar is more efficient for my living space purposes 😌). After a couple of minutes, a sound from him caused me to turn and he was pointing at the plastic container of nuts, gagging. I saw two jagged holes in the bottom of the jar as my son said “mice, I ate some of the nuts. I have to go home”. We originally threw the damaged goods in the garbage as he slightly staggered out the door. He called me to apologize for leaving (a queasy stomach from a spicy lunch then sharing the nuts with mice had exacerbated his distress). He asked if he should return. “No, tomorrow would be fine”. However, I retrieved the evidence we had thrown in the trash for taking to the lease office.  

The next morning, I replayed the memory of the night before wondering how and why themice had moved from the kitchen to the bar in the living room? I put on my Sherlock Holmes hat and began to investigate the scene. The jar of nuts had been placed on bar near where I sit while eating and watching the news or a movie on tv. There were a few mouse droppings around where the jar once stood, not readily noticeable on the dark wood. I looked at the rug around the area, which sits next to the sofa. I pulled the sofa from the wall and screamed!  There was a nest, with a pile of mice poop and mixed nuts scattered around.

It was the mouse/mice that scattered the playing cards! I did not walk in my sleep! I was not losing it as fast as I had come to believe. I should believe what I believe and never (almost never) doubt or second guess myself!