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Gray Matter
Love Knows No Age Limit
With rationale on their side, minority voices were busy delivering a single sermon: “The marriage can’t possibly work! He’s too old for her.”
All this whispered negativity swirled about youthful Jan Still and her senior suitor in December 1982. To be charitable, Jan and I shut the naysayers down, yet the odds against us ever achieving a 25th wedding anniversary were considerable.
After all, Janice Elaine Still, my junior by 26 years, was from a small town in Deep South Georgia. (“You’ll be able to tell my relatives by the sheets with hoods,” she once cautioned me, in jest.) I, in turn, was New York born and bred in New Jersey. To me, the south was for flying over, or reading about in Faulkner novels.
Inevitably, when we entered a public place heads turned ever so slightly. At age 54, I had earned my gray hair and looked to be the father of this smooth-skinned 26-year-old who suggested that ‘AARP’ was simply an aggressive sound made by junkyard dogs.
Yes, we appeared as an odd couple, but to borrow from a 17th century philosopher, “The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.” In the nine months following our accidental meeting, I pursued Ms. Still as though my life depended upon securing the marital promise.
As a widower with three children, and no life plan, I had roamed as a “gypsy of journalism.” I found work in New York City, then Chicago, on to Miami. and back again in New York. Marriage wasn’t notable on my “To Do” list.
“This relationship will last as long as my American Express card holds up,” I declared, even as I voluntarily became a weekend frequent flyer into Atlanta. Jan customarily greeted me at the airport, at least once with a champagne welcome.
Understandably, we both solicited counsel, and an adult son, Leslie William Lindeman offered this: “You two are different in your tastes for a lot of things. You’re also at different stages of your careers but differences can characterize almost any relationship. So, yes, age is an interesting component here, but it’s not the defining one.”
“Your bottom line,” he quickly added, “is love…”
On December 19, 1982, in my hometown church at Westwood, N.J., we were married. There were only two witnesses; still, the minister spoke as though his entire Lutheran congregation was present. His words rattled around this high-ceilinged building, and suddenly, overcome, the bride in white became to cry softly.
Now, why do I burden you with this self-serving tale? In part, because we are in the midst of a so-called mean season, that time around year-ending holidays when lonely senior men and women are at risk. Consider, the 65-plus cohorts represent some 12 percent of the population, yet account for between 16-25 percent of all United States suicides.
Moreover, four of every five suicides among senior Americans are men. A recent newspaper headline spoke of “a common casualty of old age…” The answer to this riddle: “A will to live.”
Pardon my bias, but I persist with this message: “To all who live alone, or struggle with loss or similar hurt, there can be but one injunction: be patient with your healing…and remain resolute.
“Learn to seize the good moments, and know that none of us should ever accept the role of non-participant in life. Given half a chance, the human spirit can, and will, regenerate.”
Lastly, there is this from the late Dr. Alex Comfort, “Old people are either loving people or tragic people who have outlived the quality of engagement.”
To which I want to scream, “Never!”
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Outrageous Associations
