A Romance of the '90s for Those in Their 70s

By Lillian Darr

There he stood, tall and handsome and 71 years old. There I stood, going on 70, and his face went straight to my heart.

We were waiting to see the same doctor at a small Iowa hospital. I sat down right next to him as we both looked at magazines, but I don't think I absorbed a single word I read that day. An hour later, at the local market, I was amazed to find him waiting at the prescription counter as I went up to talk to the pharmacist. I said, "We've got to stop meeting like this." He responded courteously, but I found out later that he hadn't even noticed me the first time!

His name was Bill. As we chatted, I was surprised to discover that this attractive stranger was the father of my granddaughter's kindergarten teacher. His own grandson was also in the class, and the two children had been mysteriously drawn to each other.

Each of us had moved to Iowa from our respective coasts to be close to our children and grandchildren. We had both left unhappy romances behind and were, in a sense, starting over.

The more I learned about this man, the more intrigued I became. He had built his own house with serious environmental consideration. He was an artist and professor of art history. He had been a Conscientious Objector during the war, and in case after case, his values matched mine perfectly.

After a few phone conversations, our two families convened in the town square for a band concert. My daughter insisted that I bake cookies. Apparently they came out pretty good that night.

One day Bill phoned and apologized for not walking me to the door the evening before. I assured him I was a liberated female who didn't need such pampering, and he said, "No, I mean that if I had walked you to the door, I could have given you a good-night kiss."

They say timing is everything. I had been caring for a woman with Alzheimer's disease, and was about to move on. So I was temporarily sharing cramped quarters with my son and his family, planning to find a room to rent somewhere. I stayed with Bill for just a few days when he said, "It would be fun to plan our garden together." That meant our lives were weaving together, and I couldn't have been happier to hear it.

Soon in his sweet, sensitive way, Bill suggested we marry to protect my good name in our closely knit community. I told him I was not concerned with appearances. Then, after a few weeks of what can only be described as domestic bliss, I found myself sitting on his lap one day. He looked at me, smiled, and quietly said, "It would be fun to plan our marriage together." I didn't know my heart could glow like that. How could I possibly say no?

We planned an exquisite June wedding at full moonrise. So many people expressed a desire to witness our union that we put an ad in the local paper in the form of our four grandchildren inviting all to the marriage of their grandparents.

When we exchanged vows, I declared that, "Everything in my life has prepared me for this magical moment." I truly believe that nothing was wasted.

Bill and I came together at a time when both of us had "paid our dues." We'd experienced a lot of pain and a lot of beauty in our lives, and we'd each finally arrived at something like inner peace, self-sufficiency and even self-appreciation.

When I think of our relationship, I think of a passage I once read:
I must conquer my loneliness alone.
I must be happy with myself, or I have nothing to offer.
Two halves have little choice but to join;
and yes, they do make a whole.
But two wholes when they coincide . .
That is beauty. That is love.