Dead End…?

Dumpster. Dead End sign. The place is a village for the aging population. Some consider it a dead end. Some dump their elders there and figure they’re ok being with others nearly as dead.

I recently moved into a village of aging population since by definition, I qualify.

There are plenty who are nearly at the dumpster’s door….but there are many with much life and wisdom to share.

I myself am recently widowed, and among the widowed and widower population, I feel comradeship. Unlike younger spousal losses, we are not expecting substitutions.

What amazes me is the strength of living in these aged beings. Sharing their strength of will to live is the light on my path to healing my own wounds. I have met men and women older than most Floridian trees. And they are the freest people I’ve ever met. Understanding their own reality in their own truth makes sober jokes but they can crack ’em. No subject is off limits. There are no taboos to avoid discussing by the Dumpster.

One new friend asked me why I moved to where the locals consider “death village” and for me, it was sensible affordable housing where being alone is not a pariah. And I’ve always enjoyed the company of people 30 years older than me because of their wisdom and nurture. For them, I bring vitality and creativity.

My friends and I often walk to the dumpster. It is where garbage ends. Right behind it is green lawn and open canal waters and trees. For me, it is a metaphor of banging through this life of mine…growing up badly confused in a Holocaust environment and subsequently not learning what rules normal life had. The rules of normal life escaped my understanding and still does. Living with people who realize they do not care if I faux pas or not quite get what life is supposed to be frees me to relax as myself.

I was once a wife and now I’m not. I was once an active parent and now I’m not.

It’s time for me to rest and heal and come back to what most people wish to see of me…my art and my thoughts in words.

Thank you.