I’m written off by folk now I’m 87

DEAR BEL,

THREE months ago, I was widowed after 66 years of happy marriage. This has been a very sad and frightening time, especially at 87.

Now I want to protest on behalf of those of us who have suddenly become the bottom of the heap.

For example, in the hospital the doctors spoke to my daughter (61) not to me. At my husband’s funeral, questions were addressed to a younger friend, not to me.

This week a car stopped by my daughter and me in my village. The man got out and asked her, ‘Do you live here?’ She said no, but I replied, ‘I do.’ He addressed my daughter, asking ‘Are you her carer?’

She explained that she is my daughter, and just visiting. But then he said, ‘Oh, I wanted to tell you about an important meeting regarding the village, but in that case I won’t bother.’

How disgustingly rude is that? I hasten to add that I may be in my 80s, but I have all my faculties and run my own home. I have many friends but naturally feel sad at losing my husband.

Even you, Bel, ended a letter from a woman who got frustrated looking after her 90-year-old mother (December 31): ‘When parents become very old, we save energy by breathing deeply and telling ourselves, “Accept this, because it will pass.”’

The elderly still have feelings and the shock of being ignored or insulted does not help our wellbeing one jot.

I am sure I write on behalf of many others who are grieving and now have additional things with which to cope. I would be glad of your thoughts. JANET

MY FIRST thought must obviously be that you are suffering a great loss and so naturally everything is viewed through that prism. A good friend of mine is in exactly the same state of grief and told me just before Christmas, ‘I think it takes two years to come to terms with this — if you ever do.’

So that is the context of my reply, as I offer my deepest sympathy and hope your good friends give you support and listen as you talk.

Of course, you are quite right that the elderly often feel marginalised and it is infuriating and even sometimes insulting. Many readers will agree with you and have their own stories of times when they were made to feel invisible. How about thinking of us as Tribal Elders and showing some respect for our wisdom?

Yet in this case I might suggest that perhaps — just perhaps — at the hospital and the funeral, others were trying to avoid putting any pressure on a widow devastated by grief.

Perhaps, they wished to spare you questions in your distress. We can all view behaviours as ‘insulting’ — or try to flip the thought and find another reason, less annoying or upsetting.

I entirely agree with you about the man in the village. He was treating you like a nonentity and that is completely unacceptable. If you have ever spent any time with disabled people, you will know that they too are often subject to the same careless rudeness. Absolutely maddening.

The only thing to do is become stroppy and insist on having your say. You sound like somebody who can stand up for herself. But you know that just now perhaps you’re not quite strong enough for that. It will come — and you will say, ‘Excuse me, please address your remarks to me!’

You mention the way I ended a recent letter (headlined ‘I can’t cope with my Mum at 90’) but I must point out gently that the context was a suggested strategy of patience, to help the writer learn to cope with her difficult mother.

It certainly wasn’t to marginalise the sick mother in any way but to make allowances for her great age and ill health by not expecting too much and getting angry. It would, I thought, save the writer stress to realise that no situation is permanent. So let us all be gentle with each other.

It is no wonder that you feel angry and on edge at the moment. You have every right, since you have lost your life companion and now face an alien landscape — one in which you know you must go on living.

People will say the wrong things from time to time and you will feel an anger that is not about their careless, petty words, but which expresses rage at the universe for taking your husband away.

All those who have experienced such a bereavement will understand your pain, but also know (I hope) that the beloved dead, who are always in our thoughts, are therefore ever-present.