The other day while having a coffee in one of our favourite cafés, Sharon and I were delighted to be joined by two friends. One of those friends is a favourite professor and mentor from my days as a music student and the other was his life partner who is just as delightful. This is the second time this has happened in as many months. Every time we talk there is such a rich and humorous exchange of ideas on a variety of subjects. 

Sharon and “C” got into their various experiences with their recent eye surgeries and the positive and negative emotions evoked from their experiences. I didn’t hear much of that conversation because on our side of the table we were having our own conversation. I always love talking with and listening to “K” and I believe he delights in it as well. The time before I had intended to send him an e-mail to express how our conversation had actually elated me and had altered my mood for hours afterward. I forgot to do it, of course, but this time I was determined to let him know how much he has meant and still means to me. 

I was reminded of a message I received from a former student who I was quite fond of. I had found him on Facebook and he messaged me back with a series of re-acquainting stories and ended with this message:  “You had a huge impact on my life, Ian!”

I wanted ”K” to hear a similar sentiment from me. He surely already knew. Most teachers are aware of that special connection. I have been fortunate to have had many great mentors and have been lucky enough to have been a mentor to several myself. 

As we were wrapping up and taking our leave I heard Sharon say to “C”:

“Aging is a series of losses and adjustments”

Which struck me as quite profound.

”K” and I had talked about career moves and loss of loved ones through death and/or neglect and loss of various abilities including changes in eyesight, mobility, location, etc. and Sharon’s statement rang so true for both conversations. 

Sharon has experienced this through her job as a home-care physiotherapist and more recently through her father’s illnesses and death and the erosion of her mother to the afflictions of aging. 

“K” and I had talked about losing our parents and several colleagues and several contemporaries. I, also had the experience of my kids leaving the nest and needing less of me. I have lost some ambition and some skill through realizing I can’t do it all.

My older brother who showed me my first guitar chords can no longer form those chords because his fingers are distorted by arthritis. My fingers may be following. I recently saw Bruce Cockburn whose arthritis requires him to use two canes to walk. He talked freely about having to adapt his style to accommodate the physical changes befalling him. he’s still great by the way.

We all lose things, seeing them drop away from our reality  until the only thing left to lose is our own life force. 

At twenty I knew I would live forever. In my forties my dad stopped living forever. In my fifties my mum stopped living forever. Here I am in my sixties and I see more of my musical and literary heroes stopping living forever. It is starting to sink in that maybe I won’t live forever. 

On Monday as I drove home from my eldest daughter’s thirtieth birthday celebration I was overwhelmed by a cloud of sadness suddenly realizing that I would not see my children grow as old as I am now. I couldn’t help that feeling or that realization. Reality sucks. I have my strategies for coping. I am a creative person. I revel in imaginary worlds and escape into art. 

Now I adjust more than I want to, but probably not as much as I need to as the years flash by. Realizing this is like a sudden growth spurt of several inches. 

My mind is expanding as my spine is contracting but my heart remains constant.