Love Hurts

Cynthia Davis and Grandma at a birthday party.

Introducing another new voice to Life Sentences. Cynthia is mainly a visual artist, but she also has a way with words.

I took Grandma out for lunch to Santropol, an old artsy café at the foot of the mountain in Montreal. We were on the terrasse with the koi pond and garden and a view of the cross on top of Mount Royal. Grandma was in her late eighties at the time. She lived to be 97.

I commented on her lovely beaded necklace.

She said it was given to her by a fellow resident of her seniors’ home. Grandma was very popular at the home because she was friendly, good natured, sociable, a good bridge player and in possession of the majority of her marbles.

There were not too many men at the residence – that’s how it goes – but one fellow was very fond of Grandma and made her the necklace in arts and crafts, and indeed made her many gifts. He had been wooing Grandma for quite some time.

Grandma had spent most of her life with Grandpa, a good part of it taking care of him. Grandpa was an intelligent but odd character, a tall skinny man who dealt in antique books and wrote poetry, including love poetry to women he was not married to. Grandma was his editor, so those particular poems did not make it into his self-published books.

One day when Grandpa was still a young man he was feeling under the weather. He went to see a doctor. The doctor examined him and said, sorry to tell you Sam, but you don’t have much longer to live. Maybe a few months. Grandpa took this to heart and spent the rest of his 91 years expecting his imminent death. (He was fine, by the way, except for being a wee bit cuckoo). When he was in his 80s, we said Grandpa, you are over 80, obviously the doctor was wrong! Grandpa said, “What? Do you think it is less likely that I’m going to die now?!”

Anyway, having had a long and perhaps less than fully blissful married life, after Grandpa died Grandma was enjoying her independence. She gently put off her fellow resident’s advances. Until one day I don’t know how, he finally convinced her to go on a date with him.

Grandma always looked good and took care of herself. She got herself dressed and groomed and ready for the date when she heard the familiar sound of ambulances pulling up to the entrance.

It was her suitor. He drew his last breath and missed their rendezvous.

When Grandma told me about this at the café, I said, “Grandma that seems like a lot of trouble to get out of a date.”

Even though it was not really that funny, we had a good laugh, because like me, Grandma preferred laughing to crying.

I’m 66 and have had two spouses die on me. I keep dating because I was with two great and interesting men, (not at the same time), and I would like to know love again. I have a few things going against me, for example, it has been mentioned to me that I am unlikely to win any beauty contests. However, I try to compensate for my looks by having a bad personality.

Online dating gets really weird the older you get, but I’m in the thick of it and in spite of what happened to Grandpa, I am still demanding a doctor’s note from anyone who wants to get serious with me.

Love hurts. Ouch!