Retirement has a way of unmasking the loneliness thats been quietly piling up over the years.
The moment I retired, the trouble began, she says, as old age reveals a lifetime of solitude.
Im sixty. For the first time, I feel like I dont existnot to my children, my grandchildren, my ex-husband, or even the world. But I *am* here. I breathe. I pop to Boots for my prescriptions, buy a loaf at the bakery, sweep the little patio under my window. Inside, though, theres a hollowness, growing heavier with every morning I dont rush off to work. With every day no one calls to ask, Mum, you alright?
Ive lived alone for years. My kids are grown, with families of their own, scattered across the countrymy son in Manchester, my daughter in Bristol. My grandkids are getting taller, and I hardly know them. I dont see them off to school, I dont knit them jumpers anymore, I dont tell them bedtime stories. Ive never been invited round. Not once.
One day, I asked my daughter, Why dont you want me to visit? I could help with the kids.
She answered calmly, but with a chill, Mum, you know why. My husband doesnt *like* you. Youre always interfering, and youve got your *ways*.
I said nothing. Just felt the sting. I wasnt forcing myself on themI just wanted to be near. And the answer? *He doesnt like you.* Not the grandkids, not my own children. Like Ive been erased. Even my ex, who lives in the next village over, cant spare a minute. Once a year, a cursory Happy Birthday text. As if hes doing me a favour.
When I retired, I thought, *Brillianttime for me!* Id take up knitting, morning walks, finally try that watercolour class Id fancied. But instead of joy, all that arrived was dread.
First came the panic attacksheart racing, dizzy spells, a sudden terror Id drop dead. Doctors poked and prodded, sent me for scans, ECGs, MRIs. Nothing. One shrugged and said, Its all in your head. You need to talk to someone, see people. Youre isolated.
Worse than a diagnosis. Because theres no pill for loneliness.
Sometimes I go to Tesco just to hear the cashier say, Need help packing? Other days, I perch on the bench outside my flat, pretending to read, hoping someone might stop for a chat. But everyones in a rush. And Im just there. Breathing. Remembering.
What did I do wrong? Why has my family drifted away? I raised them alone. Their father left early. I worked day and nightcooked, ironed their uniforms, sat up when they were ill. No nights out, no wild phases. Everything for them. And now? Im obsolete.
Maybe I was too strict. Too controlling. But I only wanted the bestfor them to be decent, responsible people. I steered them clear of bad crowds, bad choices. And here I am. Alone.
I dont want pity. Just answerswas I that terrible a mother? Or is it just this age, where everyones swamped with mortgages, school runs, football practice and no room left for Mum?
People say, Find a man! Try online dating! But I cant. Too many years on my own. Ive no energy to open up, to fall in love, to let a stranger into my home. And my health isnt what it was.
Works out of the question. Back then, there were colleaguesgossip, laughs. Now? Silence. So thick I turn on the telly just to hear another voice.
Sometimes I wonderif I vanished, would anyone notice? My kids? My ex? Mrs. Henderson from Flat 3? It terrifies me. Enough to cry.
But then I get up, put the kettle on, make a cuppa. I think, *Maybe tomorrowll be better. Maybe someone will remember me. Call. Text. Maybe I still matter to somebody.*
As long as theres a shred of hope left, Im still alive.
