I was texting with an old friend the other day. She and her husband have a number of ailments worthy of complaint, but that's not her style. Oh we did complain; yes, we did. But not about physical ailments. I'm the one who goes for the gold when complaining about aches and pains, not her.
We talked about our practical fears of dying before our spouse, how would they manage? And what if they die first, how will we manage? Order the largest garbage bin to our driveway and start chucking the precious junk in? Sell the house, move to a retirement community? Preferably one without a lawn to mow and an on-site handy person to fix things. Could it be community of oldsters filled with old women who want to drink pink cocktails and laugh? That would do. Yes, probably that's what I would choose if such a life exists.
But what would he do? I'm afraid he's not as adaptable as I am. I don't want him to be sad and alone. We didn't speak of how sad and lonely we would be if we lost them. That's intensely private and we simply couldn't go there. Not yet.
Then there is all our "stuff." For the most part, younger people don't really want old things. They may as they age, but then it will be too late. Truthfully, I care less and less about my things. My family can sell everything, make some money, live their lives. It is the things they will do that matter, not the things they have.
We ended our long texting with vows to throw things away. I filled one garbage bag with superfluous junk and then had a house dust related allergy attack and stopped.
Some photos with happier subject matter:
