Opinion: The sweet surrender of old age with loved ones

Editor’s note: joan lester, who won the Penn Josephine Miles Award for her memoir Before I Loved You: A Black and White Marriage, is working on a novel. The views expressed in this comment are her own.read more opinions on CNN

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“Grow old with me, the best is yet to come, the last of life, the first was made for”

It was 1981 when my new girlfriend Carol shyly handed me a framed poster with this quote by Robert Browning. Fascinated by her poetry and confirmation of her long-term intentions, I cast a skeptical eye on her gift.

Our hormones were surging and we couldn’t get enough of each other’s unfamiliar bodies and intriguing minds. Carol was a Midwestern kid who was a serious runner, skier, softball player, and athlete who hit tennis balls for hours every day as a teenager. There were years when all I wanted to do was read books and ride in the car with my boys. . Carol was now a night law student immersed in lesbian culture and passionate about the practice of civil rights law.

As an Oriental, twice-divorced mother who moonlighted as a community college teacher and doctoral student, I had no idea that lesbian culture even existed. I focused on parenting and studying multicultural education, and struggled to buy a cheap apartment with Section 8 housing assistance.

But with such different backgrounds, Carol and I had a lot in common. We fell madly, passionately in love as the two activists talked non-stop about civil rights and gender politics.

Alarmed, my teens complained, “Mom, you can’t be a lesbian.” What will my friends say? ” Carol’s lesbian housemate was equally concerned, warning her, “Joan is straight and she’s experimenting. She’s going to put you down.”

Still, we weathered those early stormy times, moved across the country to California after our kids were grown, and settled into married life long before marriage was legal. We bought a house, then another. We continued to do the same job. Decades later, the hormones have calmed down, Carol is in her mid-70s, I’m in my 80s, and we’re all happily trudging along.

Every life stage has its joys and challenges. Yes, those early days were exciting, with us rolling around in bed in bouts of intense desire, or exploring foreign cities hand in hand, eyes wide with wonder. But now, after nearly half a century of devoted love, an unparalleled sweetness continues to sing deep in our bones.

We’ve had a lot to celebrate over the past few years. The election of President Bill Clinton and the support in the streets. — President Barack Obama. Three grandchildren have grown into adulthood and are expanding their adult adventures. Success in our own workplaces. Neighborhood gathering. A friend’s birthday, anniversary, or a moment of relaxation.

The deaths of our beloved parents, siblings, and friends have given us enough stress tests. We have experienced estrangement from our daughter, surgery with no certainty of survival, and months of weakness that followed.

We have overcome each challenge and become more dedicated, more tightly knit, and truer to our bones. The only love I can compare it to is a mother’s love for her child, but in that relationship one grows and moves away from the other. In this time-tested love, we thrive independently, yet continue to become ever more intertwined with each other. It’s a mystery I experience every day. The deep contentment of two people’s solitude when they meditate, work, or hike alone, and the even deeper joy when they are together.

Every night, we indulge in a candlelight dinner, albeit a modest one, and discuss the day’s questions, struggles, and joys. Later, while spooning in bed, “I can’t sleep on that shoulder, it hurts too much, could you please turn to me?” — we hugged, feeling the comfort and safety of each other’s warm, familiar bodies. Taste.

“Don’t be a stranger,” I joked, pushing Carol on the back. “No!” she replied, laughing. The knowledge that our days together are finite, always true, but never more evident than when we were younger, is definitely one of the reasons for this special sweetness in her.

The burden of living burns away the remnants, and in the end, only the good remains. I want the best for Carol in every moment of her life and will do anything to help her achieve her life goals. She shows me the same thing every day.

Even if we could go back and relive those dramatic early days, dancing late into the night and pitying our parents’ pathetic 9:00 bedtimes, I’d love to hear about Carol’s old days. I wouldn’t trade this moment of liquid honey for the joy of being held in a baby carrier. Holding my hand surpasses any peace I know.

How lucky we are to have it all: memories of wild sex, exploring Paris, and admiring the art of Amsterdam. And now, on our sunny table, I have the pleasure of watching red tulips with yellow stripes open. Or you can admire a full moon like we saw recently, the bright Earth shining behind the fog. We put our arms around each other’s waists and looked at each other curiously, then went into the house, watched an Australian comedy series, laughed, and snuggled up in bed.

Yes, I’m 9 years old. I can’t imagine anything better.