Dating : Old Age

by Jamie Silva, founder of Silva Speech Coaching

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Walter stood at the glass-paneled door, his foggy breaths obscuring the small fenced yard beyond. He wished to go out, to get out, to walk, to stroll the streets he knew so well, but he couldn’t — not today. Nor could he yesterday, nor the many days before, nor probably tomorrow or the days after that. Age had finally caught up with him — or, perhaps, had always been beside him — and now he was frail, joints aflame, appendages curiously unresponsive. His infirmities were varied — none serious by itself, but accumulated and compounded, they wracked his body with indefinable aches and frustrating limitations. Bed was a refuge, albeit only just, so he stayed in it usually, often taking his meals there. He needed care, and if alone, he couldn’t be trusted to safely navigate even his own neighborhood. There were too many hazards, uncertainties, potential stumbles around every corner. So he stood on the sad side of the door, sagging eyes blearing his vision of frolicking squirrels, and waited for Sarah.

Not that Sarah would endorse his going out, even under her solicitous supervision. Mere abrasions could produce another urgent care visit, and Sarah simply didn’t couldn’t countenance those — she said so. Not now, not with so many other health matters to attend to. “I just don’t want to lose you, dear,” she would say, with a smile and a suppressed sigh. “You understand, don’t you?” He did. But he would eye the outside anyway — not in protest, but lest she think he ever stopped yearning for it. Who knew — maybe he would get better, and Sarah would decide it was safe enough to walk together once more.

Yes, even once more would be nice, he thought. So many of his happiest memories were of their walks together — his favorite thing in younger days. No long excursions, just humble constitutionals about the few blocks they called home, perhaps the further-away park if they were feeling ambitious. Sarah would chat with encountered friends along the way, and Walter would socialize with his own set in his own quiet way. “Not much of a talker, are you dear,” Sarah would say, laughing to see him and a pal standing beside, at ease in each other’s company but waiting for Sarah’s circle to finish talking. Little was remiss then.

Much was now. Things were different about the house. His aches seemed to have permeated the walls and suffused the air — or perhaps that was just the gentle stench of novel medicines mixed with the sterile fumes of sanitary agents. Physicians dropped in occasionally, poking and prodding their way to prognoses. They were cheerful with Walter — too cheerful, he thought, as he could tell from how Sarah’s sighs grew less suppressed after they left that she foresaw more and bigger bills ahead, well beyond what her meager income and savings could support. Walter felt responsible for this, but privately. Sarah would surely wave off his concerns, and assuaging his guilt would just be one more emotional parcel for her to carry.

A door creaked from the far side of the house — there she was now, back from whatever morning errand it was — he knew before but now couldn’t recall. Walter roused himself with a crackling arthritic effort and fumbled gingerly in her direction. “There you are, my love,” she said brightly — too brightly, it seemed. But, he reasoned, what was so bad about trying to encourage him?

And then: “How would you like to go out today, Walter? For a walk, maybe a ride, maybe both — eh? What do you say?” Walter couldn’t believe his good fortune and sat down for a moment to take it in, saying nothing but grinning broadly. Sarah did too, her eyes red — likely another late night worrying over him, he thought. She knelt down, red-eye-level with Walter. “You know how much I care for you — how much I’ve always cared for you, right, dear?” Her voice trembled. “I’m going to miss you so much.” Certainly Walter would miss her too when the time came. But why bring that up now, right before such a joyous event? No matter. He thumped his tail with painful, imprudent vigor, ready to walk or ride or do really anything as long as it was out of the house and Sarah was there. “There’s a good boy,” she said, with a sigh that seemed to come the bottom of a pit of resignation. “Ride first. Come on boy, hop in. There’s just one stop along the way. A new doctor. I think … the last doctor.”