It’s never too late to make new friends, and friends are never too old to be made…

I met Doris through her son, Adam, who was flirting with future living options for his 88 year old mother. Like most octogenarians, Doris was appalled at the idea, firmly attached to the admirable goal of aging in place. Despite her reticence, she agreed to my home visit, the purpose of which was to obtain this Realtor’s useful opinion of value for practical planning. 

Doris is a force of nature - mentally active and alert, physically capable, and on the edge of being adequately tech savvy. Swimming, beaching, shopping, reading, visiting friends and socializing have kept her young. She enjoys every minute of her one-ness, despite the fact that there is no one there to pick up the pieces should she fall.

And she did… twice.

The second fall left Doris with a fractured right wrist, rendering her handlessly helpless and unable to do much more than keep an eye on Trump and her friends over at The View. Her troubles were doubled by the scourge of Covid-19 and its call for continuous quarantining.

Although I’d only met Doris once with Adam, I liked her. She reminded me of my own mother who died last June at 93. Living an hour away, and with no other family nearby, Adam was understandably concerned about Doris’s declining defenses against the world. Responding to my offer to help, he asked if I could just drop by and do a couple quick things that Doris couldn’t manage with her bum hand. An hour later, she and I had covered most of the important topics in life; fashion, books, politics, and family. A seed of friendship was planted and I quickly understood that Doris is as interested as she is interesting.

Grabbing a few items at Market Basket has become a regular weekly thing. She gives me her list: one pound-salmon-skin-off-cut-in-3-pieces, frozen garlic bread (but only the purple one), Tate’s Chocolate Chip cookies (but no nuts), 4 semi-ripe bananas (but all connected), and one lemon (deep yellow only). At 5:30 am, this senior gets that senior her groceries and leaves them on her front porch.

Later, after Doris has read her Globe (in bed), we schedule a quick catch-up. Not one for phones, I drive to her house and sit in her beach chair on the back porch while she remains safely seated in her kitchen. Sometimes, I relate what she says about her life to that of my mother, but just as often, I relate what she says about her life to my own; she’s a mother, and I’m a mother… she’s a daughter, and I’m a daughter… she’s aging, and I’m aging.. she’s been a wife, and I’m a wife… she has two kids, and I have two kids... she loves Marblehead, and I love Marblehead… she likes The View, and I like The View. The list of similarities between us is all encompassing.

During one of our earlier convos, Doris asked “Why do you like me so much? I know I remind you of your mother but…” . I explained that if she lives long enough (past 93 to best my Mom), I would get the opportunity to learn even more about the logistics of life’s later years. I shared that at almost 62, the subjects of aging and dying are actually of interest to me… that I see myself more on her side of the fence than say, my 24 or 29 year old daughters… that none of my other friends are living her 88-year-old experience as a woman, a mother and a daughter, and that I’m drawn to the fantasies and facts of her future. 

At first a Doubting Doris, a sly smirky smile eased over her lips and we both understood that my visits are about much more than just groceries and their delivery… We understood that in our new friendship, we both get as much as we give. When it was time for me to leave, Doris offered a virtual hug through the glass door and said, “I’m glad you like me, because I like you too.”