AGE IS JUST A NUMBER-PART I OF IV TO RUN DAILY THROUGH FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 2023

AGE IS JUST A NUMBER - PART I of IV

What I learned best from my Cousin Lois was age is just a number, and mine is not unlisted. Lois and I didn’t establish a relationship until she was in her 80s and I in my 60s, but it blossomed as we spoke often and openly as contemporaries.

While I missed generations of a relationship with Lois, we were both so thankful that she answered my call when she did. Lois often sounded breathless when rehashing the dreaded thought of not having accepted the connection.

Our son Judd was at college in her hometown of Cleveland when we were in town and met Lois for breakfast one fateful morning. The rest, as they say, is history, our family history.

Lying in bed one morning, I was suddenly startled by my age. I never think I’m nearly 70. I am all grown up without realizing it. Immediately, thoughts of so many things Lois taught me at her advanced age of 90 came to mind.

Lois, who readily succumbed at a ripe old age, lived a hard life. Over the years, we made up for not knowing one another by covering many enlivening topics. By the time she eagerly died at age 90, I doubt there was much I didn’t learn about Lois and her colorful life.

Whenever I telephoned, she cheerfully answered with “hello dear.” Still, I could tell from her voice the amount of pain she was feeling that day.

Although she maintained that she was never depressed, after years of decline and riddled with pain, in her 80s, she willfully tried to commit suicide. She failed, was revived, and sent to reside in a facility for seniors. Unhappily, she lingered there for several years, with ups and downs in her pain and cognizance. See her granddaughter’s article at: http://thilohagen.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/02/Alexis-Drutchas-Please-dont-keep-me.pdf.

Along came the COVID pandemic, entailing a mask mandate and no visitors allowed, which made life in confinement even more unbearable. Still, Lois somehow survived a severe bout of the deadly virus, which afforded me many more opportunities to learn from her thoughtful advice.

Lois knew my parents and our aunts and uncles in all parts of the country when they were younger. She held hands with our grandfather, who died before I was two. As an adult, Lois failed to keep in contact with the out-of-state elders. She questioned why no one encouraged her to reach out to her aunts and uncles.

I knew Lois’s mother and my aunts and uncles in New Jersey but only got to know our other California and Cleveland aunts and uncles when they were older. Cousin Lois and I had so much to discuss and share.

I read my manuscript, Kitchen Talk, to Lois in daily increments over the phone after she insisted that she would only allow me to do so if it would help me. We laughed, cried, and bonded as we should have done so many decades earlier.

Most moving for me were the stories she interjected about our aunts and uncles, who I didn’t get to know at an early age. She told me that she could see our Uncle Hy in her mind’s eye in my cheekbones and the setting of my eyes. She went on, “he was a good-looking man and quiet.” Well, I guess I didn’t get the quiet gene from him.

On August 1, 2016, I received a heartfelt note from Cousin Lois after reading my voluminous book to, or rather, with her, which I’ve since cut down from over 600 pages. Aside from Lois saying, “I really loved it,” we grew to love one another. Most gratifying for me was her telling me that “this has been a really exciting and interesting time in my life.”

On August 1, 2016, I received a heartfelt note from Cousin Lois after reading *Kitchen Talk*
She began the note by making reference to my happy place-the bungalows in the Catskills, which I reminisce about in *Kitchen TalK*

There’s more about Lois…follow along daily this week through Friday to read parts II through IV.