Falling in love at 93 gives the word FOREVER a whole new meaning. It also brings joy, a fluttering of the heart and tremendous girlish excitement.
This is what happened when I visited my Aunt who lives in a lovely apartment outside Oxford. We were sitting overlooking the communal gardens of her ground floor home when she said. ‘Do you think it’s ridiculous for me to fall in love at my age?’
But it was her coquettish smile and the twinkle in her eye that made me want to punch the air in happiness.
Bearing in mind she met her husband, Uncle John who was in the army, when she was a nurse during WW2 in Jerusalem (she’s been a widow for over forty years), I felt I had to treat her comment with the gravitas that matched her voice so I replied.
‘Why should it be ridiculous? You haven’t stopped feeling emotions. I think it’s great — how exciting!’
It turns out that her suitor writes her poetry. He lives nearby and he leaves it on her doorstep early each morning so it’s there for her, on the mat, when she wakes up.
I imagine she moves more quickly now getting out of bed in the early morning. Her step is lighter, her movements are more eager and energetic as she slips into her dressing gown and slides into her slippers and shuffles across the carpet to open the front door: Someone loves her. Someone cares. Someone is thinking of her.
Unfortunately her eye-sight isn’t great. Seemingly, he records his loving words onto a disc so she can listen to it on her CD player. In the evenings they sit together, in the fading dusk, to listen to poetry and share a bottle of decent claret: Milton, Wordsworth, Coleridge. He recites passages that are special to them both about love, longing and loss.
It’s a meeting of words, of souls, of love and emotion. It evokes her youth and her vigour. Once again, I imagine, she dreams a young person’s hopes or does it provide comfort, melancholy and safety?
‘It will never go anywhere,” she says. ‘I’m far too old.’
We take time to watch a robin jump onto the arm of the bench and fly onto a colourful Forest Flame.
‘Some people never find love at all — so enjoy the moment — and the tenderness.’
‘Oh, I will,’ she replies laughing, as if she can’t help herself.
It’s about sharing. It’s about being in the moment. It’s about NOW.
Sharing similar thoughts, feelings and emotions — it’s about trusting the person you’re with and knowing they’re as excited as you. It’s that brief glimpse, the soft touch, the awakening of your dormant soul — that flicker of the candle-flame glowing precariously. That special whisper of breath on your cheek. It’s like being kissed by an angel.
The flame wavers, forever changing shape and dancing excitedly in it’s own light. Wondering what might have been…what might still happen.
‘It’s never too late,’ I say to her. ‘To draw your heart on the window for him.’
Good night, dear reader. Think loving thoughts…
For more information about my writing, please visit my blog:
· How I Research and Write my Novels
· Bedtime Reads — Short stories based on unusual relationships
Sign up to my mailing list and receive book 1 — MASTERPIECE for free: http://www.subscribepage.com/janetpywell