She did not make eye contact with me, but I had the sense that she knew that I was observing her. I had pulled into a service station that sold Sunday papers and sat there for a few minutes as I sought to drive away the cobwebs of sleep before entering to purchase a newspaper. She had pulled alongside and parked and carried her billfold in her hand. I did not know her but I had seen her before at the same service station, getting a paper.

She was dressed in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and casual clothes as though she intended to lounge at home, doing odd jobs, although the day was Sunday and many within the community would be dressing to attend church. I judged her to be close to eighty, but a spry eighty for she moved swiftly into the store and almost immediately exited with a newspaper as though she already had the correct amount of money prepared for the clerk and did not tarry for any kind of discourse.

She came by where I was seated without looking in my direction and I got the impression that she lived by herself, that she had lived a full life, but that something had happened to her that had left her saddened to the point of withdrawal from major sources of socialization. Perhaps the death of her spouse or a tragedy with her children, something!

Her eyes were a bit puffy and she had a slack jawed expression as though she were just hanging on to life with little joy or anticipation that things would get better for her. And yet, I also got the impression that she was highly intelligent and aware of the major issues facing our society and that she could express herself articulately and eloquently if one could get inside the facade that held most persons at bay.

I shall leave this lonely heart, a person who has withdrawn into herself like the Dead Sea , and return to her later and try to make sense of these wasting souls that litter the landscape of us aging folk.

In Wesleyan Village where my wife and I winter in Brooksville Florida, there is a resident from Ashland who has written and performs a song for talent night that is hilarious. The song spoofs the notion that some persons always regard his or her malady as being the worse possible, from an ingrown toenail to open heart surgery. This lady flings open wide her arms and trembles her hands as she exclaims, “My pain is worser than your pain.” to howls of laughter and applause from the audience, we ourselves recognizing our own penchant for so doing or recalling this tendency on the part of some persons we know.

And, now we find that commiserating with others is healthful. An article entitled “Study: Older Adults Happiest,” appeared in the April 19 edition of the Lexington Herald-Leader, citing two separate studies at the University of Chicago which document that remaining socially active is one way that older Americans cope with the pressures of aging, even if the socialization is talking about our ailments. To be sure, we have aches and pains and often debilitating illnesses, but a key to happiness is to share our burdens with others. And, church, volunteer groups, playing cards and games help drive the lonely wolf from barking at our door. And this writer suggests writing might be added to the list.

The study goes on to say that we older persons have learned that material things are less important than we had thought in our younger years and we have lowered our expectations and are more content with our status in life, significantly more so.

Now back to my lonely friend who came to get a newspaper. Just as the Dead Sea is appropriately named because of no outlets and huge deposits of salt that snuff the life from any potential living organism, so persons who withdraw snuff out the life of those who love them and eventually of themselves.

What can we do? I think the next time I see my lonely comrade; I am going to break the ice and say “Hello.” I may get my face slapped or worse, but it is worth a try!