I guess there comes a time in any long-term relationship, especially one of 50+ years, when the aging process hits each of us in different ways.
For me, I noticed that the lines and wrinkles rehomed themselves in my face. When I look at my legs, I see saggy, wrinkly skin instead of smooth, muscular limbs. For GB, his hair turned white over the years, so imperceptibly that I hardly noticed. Both our chins began to develop more chins that comfortably rested on our necks.
But it isn’t the outward appearance of age that tells us that we’ve grown old.
It’s the activity. The ability to move. The grace of movement. Or maybe it’s the lack of flexibility that makes a walk, once purposeful and strident, now hesitant, clumsy, or affected by a slight limp.
And it’s the attitude. The willingness to continue to meet new people, accomplish things. Remain relevant. Stay healthy. Eat well. Exercise. Travel. Engage in a world that needs us if we are willing to extend ourselves, be productive, contribute to the conversation.
But all that comes differently for each of us.
Last week we went to Cabo San Jose in Mexico. It became not a vacation but a stark reminder that GB and I had aged in different ways.
GB and I were always good travel partners. We loved food, backroads, meeting people, talking to dogs (ok, that’s just me), arguing about museums (he loves, I hate), getting lost, arguing about whose fault it was that we got lost. We moved at the same pace. We spent more money than we should have. We splurged. There were Michelin Star restaurants (my idea, never his). We bought art (his idea, usually not mine). We trapsed back into the US with crates of stuff packed in protective straw and crumpled newspapers. We took shark dives (my idea, not his but he did it and I didn’t), ferries to strange places, safari, Paris, London, Athens, Istanbul, New York (so many times), Maine (every single peninsula over 10 years), road trips (just backroads, no highways), BC Canada mainland and islands, US national parks, American cities and small towns, the Amazon, a great meal in Sao Paulo (another Michelin find). Our home filled with the textiles and art from our travels. We didn’t travel as much as we wanted, but we traveled well. The few trips I took without him were, well good, but I would have rather been with him. I was in Budapest many years ago without him when he called to let me know that one of our cats, Huey Katzamazov, was dying. He had cancer. It was Christmas and Budapest was a cold dark gray at 3 pm. My heart was broken.
It didn’t occur to me that this part of our marriage would change in a dramatic way.
But it has.
GB no longer has the stamina, flexibility, or cognitive skills to challenge new places with unfamiliar steps or sidewalks. He lacks the flexibility to participate in activities we’d normally do, things I am still able to do. The trip last week confused him. He tripped, fell, and tore open his arm. He was unable to do many things without assistance from others. He put himself in dangerous situations, oh, not from sharks or wild animals, but from simple, easy walks that would have presented no challenge to him before his hydrocephalus took away some of his cognitive skills.
The last several trips have been marred by GB’s health. One trip to Israel was cut short for him when I had to send him back to the US after only two days. Friends met him at DIA and took him immediately to the emergency room and then stayed close to him while I was gone. Other trips became frightening by falls and a near drowning.
Travel for GB has become not a pleasure. It has become dangerous.
I know this decision hits anyone who has been married for a very long time. Some couples choose to continue to travel together with one providing care for the other. I can see doing that sometimes. But not always. So, he and I will change our travel habits.
If I travel with GB, it’ll be a river cruise. Or a car-trip. They will be trips where he will be successful, not challenged or embarrassed. They’ll be activities we can both enjoy. They’ll be pleasant and fun. They’ll be safe and, if anything happens, I’ll be able to handle it. I’ll know where hospitals and urgent care centers are. Or there will be staff on board a riverboat that can handle an emergency.
I won’t be by myself in a foreign country caring for someone who has just been injured.
I have chosen to continue my own travels in the ways that challenge me. I’m healthy. My balance is good. I no longer walk with a limp; thanks to a procedure I had done last month. I’m flexible, walk fast (though not as quickly as in years past). I’m self-aware to know my limitations. My cognition is good, at least I think it is. My mind seems as quick as ever.
When I go to Africa next fall, I’ll travel with a small group. When I find other trips abroad, I will travel alone (in a small group) or with friends.
It makes me sad that I won’t be able to share some adventures with GB. We’ve had so many along the way.
The bad news is that we won’t be able to take these adventures together. The good news is that he does well at home. It’s safe and he knows where he is. He has activities that challenge him. He’s teaching children to read, and he volunteers at the local library. He has his two poker groups. He hangs out in the workshop at our complex and is learning to craft stuff made from wood. He’s comfortable here and he’s successful. There are literally hundreds of things that happen in Denver that we can enjoy: walks, lectures, concerts, films, dinners with friends, our Tuesday afternoons with our friends Harold and Susan, the Great Courses every Monday at our complex.
Not all is lost. Just one part of a long relationship. But it’s a reminder that as our life speeds up, it’s slowing down at the same time.
Air. 
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