Françoise loves Gerry Boulet, God and chocolate. She studied fine arts, had a career at the University of Montreal and dated a Marxist. Today, she is 78 years old and alone.
Oh, she does have a cousin and two friends who call her regularly, but she often tells me: she is alone. These few human fragments are not enough to break the solitude of everyday life. Like so many other seniors, Françoise leads a life parallel to the rest of the group. While we run, she reads Proust and listens to the radio while waiting for the next meal that a care worker will bring her. The world turns, and it turns fast. However, Françoise no longer knows the dizziness.
We met in the spring of 2020. The organization Les petits frères had just launched a telephone volunteer program to break the isolation of confined seniors. I was asked to talk with Françoise, since we both had a strong interest in local culture.
Our first call hit me like a blow to the solar plexus. Françoise had worked all her life, she had loved, she had given and received and played and created… But that hadn’t stopped her from signing up to an organization for people suffering from isolation.
Until then, I had cultivated the idea that it was about living well surrounded to age in community. I was wrong.
Françoise had been a faithful friend and a devoted lover, but the years had separated each of her loved ones.
I could meet the same fate.
Of course, I was aware of the statistics: approximately 20% of Canadians over the age of 65 feel isolated, according to various Statistics Canada reports. But the numbers now had a voice, that of Françoise, who told me about the slowness of the days and the heaviness of the heart, but which became lighter when she discussed the work of Jean Désy or the way in which the trees in the same forest are interconnected.
Sometimes, Françoise and I had nothing to say to each other. I would play her favorite songs over the phone. These were moments of great sweetness for me. This friendship soothed my pandemic anxiety.
Five years later, I still talk to Françoise twice a week. I also visit her occasionally and always take the opportunity to look at the painting in her kitchen. Strokes of different blues intertwine in a melancholic way. Françoise told me she was sad when she painted it, a long time ago. I find it magnificent.
For his 76e birthday, I gave Françoise some brushes, canvases and paint. She has never used them because she is afraid of not being as good as before, of disappointing herself. She often says to me: “Don’t give up on me.”
No matter how much I tell her, I don’t think she realizes how much her presence nourishes me.
Françoise is honest as only women of her age can be. bullshit does not exist in her home.
If she’s in a bad mood, she tells me. If she doesn’t feel like talking, she tells me. If she’s suffering, she doesn’t apologize for it. She doesn’t hide anything out of concern for pleasing, she’s whole.
In a world that values what shines, she shamelessly shows me what shocks.
Then when she laughs, everything becomes clear.
When she tells me about the political excitement of the 1970s, her career as a secretary to university researchers, her years of sharing an apartment in a changing Montreal, or the time she spent with Marcelle Ferron, it is a part of Us that I understand.
She inspires me, informs me and upsets me. I don’t see why I would let her go…
The 1er October will be National Seniors Day. For the occasion, the organization Les petits frères will launch a new awareness campaign to remind Quebecers that no one is safe from isolation. I like the idea.
Realizing that I could grow old alone too is the first benefit I got from my involvement with the organization.
I could mention many more, but I will limit myself to two points for today:
1. I realized that I am young and stupid. I think I know a lot of things, but when Françoise tells me that she doesn’t want to have dinner with the residents or doesn’t have the strength to walk in the sun to improve her mood, I remember that there is no point in trying to impose “solutions” on others. We try to help, but what helps is listening. I don’t know the recipe for happiness and even if I did, it would be useless to repeat it to someone who has seen snow much more often than me…
2. Françoise reminds me every week of the importance of maintaining community solidarity. If we don’t stick together, who will? We all risk growing old alone, so we might as well start sticking together. I don’t believe in karma… Getting involved today won’t necessarily guarantee us happiness tomorrow. However, I believe in the beauty of encounter. And it is possible right now.
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