I’d heard that once we seniors reach a certain age, we start losing people — friends, acquaintances, other senior relatives — they start dying one by one.
I’d reached my age unscathed by much of that loss, and was happy to consider that it might always be so, that the others I hold dear would continue being part of my days. But no, that unfortunate phase of life has caught up with me.
It got to the point where I didn’t want to answer the phone, so sometimes I didn’t. I would unplug it the night before and wouldn’t plug it in the next day until noon.
I would tell myself it was because I didn’t want my sleep disturbed by the robocalls or sales pitches. But the truth was that I feared hearing about yet another death in my circle.
I had to take myself in hand to deal with the endless sadness about the ever-growing list of appearances at funerals. My way of handling the grief has been to get out of the house at least once each day, no matter what.
On Monday afternoons, I walk and socialize dogs at the humane society, working with the animals to get them more suitable for adoption.
On Wednesdays, I shelve books in the library, usually the kid section. On Friday afternoons, I deliver prescriptions for a pharmacy here in town.
I was told that most of the customers are other seniors who aren’t well enough to get out to pick up their own prescriptions, which has certainly been an attitude adjustment as I ponder their conditions — unhealthy — versus mine, healthy enough to play with dogs, shelve books and so on.
The other days I walk laps at the rec center. Getting out every day helps. But I still dread answering the phone.