Did the 15 years matter?
both 58, 15 years apart
I turned 58 this week, the same age Jack was when we met.
Among the myriad other ways our lives were different, the 15 year age gap seemed minor. There were lots of cultural references he didn’t get, but they were more due to him living in Poland until the mid-80s. We didn’t share expressions, but that’s because his first language wasn’t English. He knew the inner and outer suburbs of Toronto, which were foreign to me, because his appliance service work took him everywhere. I looked blank when he spoke of first communions and confirmations because my people are Protestant.
Another reason the chronological gulf could have felt wider? I grew up surrounded by siblings more Jack’s age than mine. I was less amused of his tales of hippie garb he wore in the early 70s than I might have been because I remembered my sisters’ tie-dye and chokers. And when he talked about the Western stuff he heard on pirate radio, I nodded - my very early childhood ranged from Beatles, Stones, Beach Boys, and the Mamas and Papas.
So no, the 15 years was well down the list of differences.
But turning the age he was then has made me reflect on that age gap. I met him at 43. Upon learning he was 58, one friend told me it’s better to be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave. It made me laugh at the time - I never was going to be anyone’s slave, young or old. There was something very nice though about being with someone mature enough to realize what was important in a relationship. With two failed marriages and an alarming number of ex-girlfriends, Jack was expert in what didn’t work in relationships. He claimed his marriages failed because he thought he could mold his wives into what he thought he wanted in a partner. With me, he said he chose based on what I was already than what I could be. Was I his darling? No. But we were well matched intellectually which (a) knows no age and (b) makes for lively dinner conversation as anyone who watched our verbal sparring will confirm.
Many will also confirm there were many aspects of Jack’s behaviour that were 15 and sometimes 40 years younger than me! He was fond of deliberate public misbehaviour, childish jokes, talking back to customs officers, flouting non-smoking (and other) rules, and driving like a teenaged boy just given the keys to his dad’s convertible. Anyone who thought I was seeking a replacement for my father - dead only two years when I met Jack - soon suppressed that thought. If parenting was needed, I did it.
I watched Jack hit milestones birthdays of 60 and 65 - ones I will have in the not-too-distant future. I supported him as he decided when to take Old Age Security and Canada Pension Plan payments. I enjoyed the benefits of seniors discounts alongside him (want to read my views of these? Check out my blog here.) Jack of any age prioritized living well his way over medical wellness. So when those habits, coupled with age, took their toll, I sat ringside - pre-diabetes, tooth problems, sciatica, heart issues, and, of course, ultimately lung cancer, which has frozen him in time at age 67.
I didn’t seek out someone 15 years my senior. Anyone with a partner can end up widowed but with that gap, I knew it was likely. As I live each of the next nine years, I will reflect on Jack’s life on each his birthdays, conveniently just three days after my own.
And so this weekend, I will think about that man who, on Oct 15, 2009, 10 days after his 58th birthday, met me when he fixed my fridge, changing his trajectory for the rest of his life. And mine with it.
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