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planning. If someone had asked me, “Where
do you want to be in five years?” a question often asked when you’re
young and starting work, I could not have answered. Nor could I have
set an objective and plotted a strategic plan. There was no objective.
There was no vision. Much of what happened in the next years happened
by serendipity, by unforeseen encounters, by meeting people I could
not have envisaged.
What’s first? Now that I am alone, where do I want to live? Our
home together for forty-two years had been in Washington, D.C. David’s
work was with the World Bank. He was English, I’m American, and we
came to England every two years or so on home leave. Eighteen months
before he died, our two children, who were both living in London,
suggested we uproot and move to London so they could help with his
care. I retired from my work - with an over 50s organisation - earlier
than planned. David had already retired, and we sold up, renting a
furnished flat until we found a permanent home in London. We did not
reach the buying stage. He died unexpectedly, mercifully of a massive
haemorrhage, which is the quick way he wanted to go.
I decided I would stay in London. There seemed little reason to
return to Washington. No compelling job to return to, no house. My
children and the first grandchild were in London; my sister and
brother, both with English spouses , were here, too.
The first year was busy with sorting out finances, planning a
memorial, looking for a flat, buying one, arranging to ship over the
furniture we had stored in Washington.
After that, clouding the horizon now, how to fill the days? I
had some London contacts through my work and decided to offer my
services and knowledge, gratis, to similar ageing organisations such
as Age Concern. Although greeted with much enthusiasm, nothing
concrete came of the meetings. One national charity was only
interested in getting a substantial amount of funding from the U.S.
group which I knew was not going to be available.
Prior to the job with the over 50s association, I had been a writer
for the National Geographic. But who was going to hire a 68 year old
for a staff position? Should I try freelance journalism? But I didn’t
know the UK media market and I was rusty.
Since I’m an inveterate course taker, I enrolled in a journalism
course at the City Lit. It was just what I needed for confidence. My
writing unrusted and the very knowledgeable tutor, Helen Franks, gave
us practical advice on how to sell, what to sell and who to sell to.
My thanks to Helen whom you know as editor of laterlife.
I did sell several stories, notably one to the Guardian on
grandparents who were bringing up their grandchildren because the
parents were unable to do so: drug addiction, mental instability,
economic circumstance being the main reasons. Learning about new
situations was an energising experience.
Other features appeared in national magazines. But was this the
life for me? You must constantly think up new ideas , pitch them to
editors, follow up if there is no response. Moreover, you are working
at home alone. I missed the camaraderie of co-workers and the back and
forth discussion of new ideas.
 The freelance life was not lifting my spirits. Truthfully, I
was not only alone but lonely. My lifelong friends were back in
Washington. I did catch up with some of my husband’s old English
friends. But the women had spouses, and their own social network.
Family? My sister worked full time and travelled often. My daughter
was at work all day and busy with husband and new child. My son and
his wife, too, were caught up in full-time careers. My brother had
moved to the country.
I did make new friends. Other widows and women who had always
lived a single life. But how many museums or films or concerts can you
go to. How to fill the days?
Charity work? Fortunately, my pension, social security and a
portion of my husband's pension left me free from worrying about a paid
job. I thought at first I would investigate the Parkinson’s Society.
But I had some negative associations and feelings. Too many bad
memories. I needed to be involved in something I felt more positive
about.
My local Carers Network had been helpful when David was alive,
providing advice and a few hours a week of respite. My new flat was
now in another area, so I offered my services to a similar charity,
the Kensington and Chelsea Carers. Anything, I said. Stuffing
envelopes?
In time, I was asked to help write the newsletter, and to plan
the Carers Forums, bi-monthly meetings for carers and the social
services to meet and explore mutual concerns. I now serve on the KC
Carers quality performance committee and have just been elected a
Trustee. It is very good to know you can contribute meaningfully and
that the organisation values your contributions.
Satisfying too, to realise that the knowledge and skills you gained
over the years - ones that you may not recognise yourself - are
recognised by others and put to good use.
I maintained contact with Helen Franks and, when laterlife.com
was launched, she asked me to become a regular contributor. Writing,
though anxiety-ridden, is one of the most effective ways for me to get
out of myself, to block the surges of mild depression that can
overtake me. I miss my spouse . I miss the easy communication, the
shared experiences of forty-two years, I miss the love, the physical
closeness.
After two years, I felt I was ready to seek out male companionship.
I took the lead and invited a friend to the theatre. Although the
evening was pleasant there was no follow up. I met a very attractive
bachelor at a university fund-raising dinner but discovered when we
met for drinks he had a very satisfactory partner of twenty years.
“Tell everyone you know that you are now ready to meet someone,”
said friends and family. “Join groups with similar interests.” The
obvious truth became vividly apparent. There are very few unattached
men in their late 60s or 70s available, and if they are, they are more
interested in much younger women.
I joined a dating service. If you would like to read about this
interesting but fruitless experience, look in the laterlife interest
archives for “The Dating Game when you’re over 65,” articles one and
two.
Now I am relaxed enough to leave it to chance. If someone
appears, fine. I am not actively looking. I have a different kind of
love: four young grandchildren whose beautiful faces and sweet voices
bring me great surges of emotion. I have new friends to go out with
and a renewed closeness with my sister.
And there is a wonderful group of men and women I work with and
lunch with twice a week. With much humour and good-natured banter
we discuss politics of the day, the theatre, holidays and more. These
are the volunteers who help at REACH, another charity I devote time
to.
 This came about through yet another of those opportunities you
could not plan for. A fellow student from Helen’s class, and now
too an occasional writer for laterlife (Olive Braman), was working at
REACH, whose remit is to recruit volunteers with career skills and
place them with voluntary organisations. She asked if I was interested
in joining them in their central office. I was. And I have enjoyed
being part of this charity ever since.
Yes, I am still alone. But not lonely. I have found a new life.
Where to find a new later life:
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Local adult education centres – look for
daytime classes where you are more likely to meet those of similar
age group
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Join a local walking group, or painting
group or gardening club
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Try classes at a private or council-run
gym for 50 plus. Again daytime classes attract older people
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Join your local Residents Association or
Neighbourhood Watch committee
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Do voluntary work - see in local library
for list of organisation. You might want to help children reading in
primary school, or visit old people, or help in a hospital
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Try an assertiveness training class (at
adult education centre) if you feel shy about mixing with new people
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If you are bereaved, try CRUSE or other
local bereavement group: see in your local telephone directory or
ask at the library for addresses
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Finding
a new life
