She was sitting alone at a table for two when I entered the coffee shop, five minutes late for our date. I watched her for a long minute, taking in her nearly white hair, styled in the same short layered bob, her sagging jawline, her gnarled fingers typing away at her laptop. She was frowning slightly at the words that filled her screen.
She had no coffee, so when I approached, I greeted her with, “Hello! Should I order our coffees? Black, I assume,” then added, “I see we finally let our hair color go natural. It’s beautiful.”
She smiled up at me, her eyes bright, her teeth a shade more yellow, and replied, “Oh, hello! It’s so good to see you. I remember you! Thank you, and no, I’ll come with you. I want to order a snack too.”
She struggled a bit to get to her feet, but with the same easy gait, she walked beside me to the counter. Several of the other patrons in the coffee shop greeted her warmly, and I smiled to myself to see that we were so connected to our community.
I ordered my coffee, and she ordered a chocolate croissant to accompany hers. Turning to me, she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want something to eat? The pastries here are delicious.”
“I shouldn’t,” I replied under my breath, but then actually felt guilty for NOT ordering what I truly desired. She chuckled and ordered a scone for me.
Settling back down at our table, I said, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I wasn’t sure you would. I know you can’t tell me what my future, your present, looks like, but I have a few questions I think you can answer.”
“Of course. Fire away,” she replied.
I had been struggling with a desire to create visual art for years, dabbling occasionally with various mediums, but never fully committing to it, so I asked, “Do we ever get rid of this feeling that our creative endeavors have to make money in order to be worthwhile and acceptable? I would love to try my hand at ideas I have for visual art, but what would I do with it? I feel like I would need for it to be recognized, to sell it at art shows or galleries. And I don’t want to clutter my house with any lame attempts at art, or give them to reluctant friends or family.”
Laying a hand atop of mine, she looked me in the eye and said, “I seem to recall that we weren’t particularly worried about making money on our first book. That was a project of love, and look at all the good it produced. You can’t put a price on that. Our next books may not have been as financially successful, but that didn’t stop us from writing. We couldn’t ignore the impulse to write then, so why do you ignore the impulse to create something visual?”
I looked down at our hands and nodded, “It’s true. If I want to create, I should create. I will create.” I took a breath and asked my second question, “How reliant are we on our daughters and their families? I worry that I already place too much of my social needs on them. I don’t want to burden them with any physical needs that might arise. You look healthy now, but I know good health won’t last forever.”
Her mouth turned down a bit, and she said, “I’ll answer you with a question. Do our daughters and their families love you now? Do you help them when they need it? Do they help you now when you need it? The answer is “yes” to all of that! Why do you think it would be any different as we age? Our needs change, and so do theirs, but we continue to love each other and support each other in the ways we can. You really don’t have to worry about this.”
“I know,” I replied sheepishly. “I just love them so much. I don’t want to cause them pain if I become ill or infirm.”
“And they love US that much, too.”
“One last thing, and I know you can’t answer it,” I said. “I’m just curious. Do I ever love again?”
“You love and are loved every single day, my sister,” she answered.