A couple days ago I took my lovely granddaughter to the airport for her flight to see her mom in Florida. After she had gathered her stuff and started through security, I headed for the exit.
My heart dropped when I spotted a young man in tan trousers, navy blue sport jacket, white dress shirt open at the neck, also heading for security. He had a remarkable resemblance (face and build and manner of dressing) to an old (young) love of mine of many years ago. I suddenly recalled flying to Baltimore for a romantic birthday weekend with my lover who was a bit younger than I. I was 37 and he was 32. I remembered exiting the plane and throwing myself into the waiting arms of this tall handsome man whom I had not seen in three months. I thought I loved him so very much. He was single (divorced) and I had been divorced for over a year. The flight there is a story in itself, so I will not go into that right now.
The point of this is to say that seeing that young man striding through the airport on Thursday, painfully reminded me that I am old now, 73, and the days of flying around rendezvousing with a sexy handsome lover, celebrating our reunions by feasting on lobster in fancy restaurants in Baltimore, Birmingham, Sanibel Island, nights of desperate passion (not knowing when we would see each other again), and so much more are long over. I walked out into the sun-filled parking lot with a freshly broken heart, realizing once more that I am old and I will never have that experience again. Thinking my body has failed me, because my mind cannot yet grasp the levity of aging.
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