Misery Loves Nobody

I know that we are taught that misery loves company and it helps to share.
Interesting that I know that but I still refuse to join a support group or go to therapy.
I get tired of the pity and of being told how great my attitude is.
There is a senior citizen coffee held here at our apartment complex every Wednesday morning that I attend. They wait on me hand and foot. I am a bit embarrassed by it, but they are so sweet. I tolerate it to avoid their embarrassment. People my own age have too much too do. I can't keep up, even in my chair. I join the senior citizens and at least I'm not so far behind.
I relate to the senior group here. We take naps, do our best to hit the pool, and check the mail early so we can visit a bit. We speak highly of our kids and wish they would visit more. We also sit in our apartments and combat our loneliness. Funny since we are in the same enclosed living space. Our doors sometimes only feet apart.
Maybe misery doesn't love company.
I had the pleasure of a elderly acquaintance last week. She lives with her daughter here. We met over Lilly's art work. I hang her seasonal stuff on the door. They loved her Valentines heart and left us a Valentine letting us know. I receive a lot of sweet remarks on Lilly's art, but nobody seemed to want to discuss her snowmen with vampire teeth.
If you combined both of my grandmas you would get Marge. I haven't seen her for awhile. I tried to visit, but she tends not to wear her hearing aids when alone and does not hear me knock. She showed up at my door and realized, when I answered, she had forgotten to put her hearing aids on. She could not hear a word I said and came on in. I got to listen to her life story, a fascinating story of life through the depression and a world war. And I got to read a very personal email, the story she could not tell me - she is losing a child to cancer. No matter what age, moms are moms and the kids are not supposed to go first.
Marge also shared a few pictures. Most importantly one of her taken a few years ago. "This is the real me."
I so understood! Time and disease ravage our bodies. I know what I look like, but it isn't who I am. I don't recognize that person in the mirror with the sallow complexion, highlighted by the red mark highlights my cheeks and nose, and the dark ringed eyes peering back. So many times I have said, "I wish you could have met the real me." I have heard a lot of chronically ill people say this.
Next time, she she told me, it is my turn to talk and she promises to be able to hear me!

Since my last post I have married again. Rand and I 'eloped' for our 30th anniversary. Brother Rod performed the ceremony over the speaker phone. We exchanged new wedding bands and neighbors were quickly found to witness and photograph.