cemetaryOver the past week I reread Christopher Isherwood’s novel A Single Man.  It came up in the film Chris and Don , bringing the book back to my attention.  I had read it several years ago, before being in a relationship, and I knew the new context of my life with John as well as the film would give the book new meaning.  The book follows a day in the life of a middle aged gay man named George who has recently lost his partner in a car accident.  The internal life of George features heavily in the book, giving it an exceptional emotional gravity.

With that at the fore of my mind over the past week, I have been thinking quite a bit about the impact of aging and death on intergenerational relationships.  The issue of advanced age and death has to be one of the issues that looms largest in the minds of intergenerational couples, particularly in cases like John and mine where there are multiple decades difference in the couple’s ages.  It is quite clear, that no matter how compatible the couple is or how in love they are, there is an expiration date on the relationship.  The obvious questions arise from both inside and outside the couple:  What happens when the older partner become physically or mentally incapacitated?  What will the younger partner do when the older dies?  In a long term committed relationship between men of widely differing ages the phrase “till death do you part” becomes less a romantic gesture and more an ominous portent.

The issue of John’s advancing has come up a few times, but we haven’t discussed it at great length.  We are fortunate at the moment that he’s in great shape for his age, healthy and active.  But our age difference accentuates the fact that, most likely I’ll witness his decline well before I enter my own.  He’s mentioned that he may go back east to an assisted care facility near one of his sons.  I understand the reasoning, but this idea fills me with dread.  On the one hand they’ll likely have the resources financially or familial that I might not be able to provide.  They will certainly be better able to direct his care than I could here considering the legal and prejudicial hurdles I’m sure we would confront.  I also couldn’t fault either John or his children and grandchildren for wanting to be near each other in his final days.  However, I fear that I may not be able to follow him wherever he goes, but I’m deeply saddened at the thought of being away from him and he being away from me when he might need me the most.

I am also aware that I’ll face unique challenges after John’s passing.  John is such a huge part of my life, I know that when I lose him, no matter how it happens, I will be devastated.  Because of our unique relationship and our families’ skepticism of it, I fear that there won’t be much emotional support when he’s gone.  I vainly hope that I might maintain some small relationship with John’s kids; a continuing connection to this man I love, but I know it’s not likely to be.  I’ve also come to realize that, as a geographic transplant, John is central to my social network here.  Without him I fear isolation and depression.

I know that these concerns can’t be unique to John and I.   It is saddening to contemplate them, and to think that gay couples in general and intergenerational couples specifically seldom have institutions or traditions to turn to in confronting this part of our lives.  The bright side of all the morose contemplating I have been doing lately is that it has reinvigorated my love for John and reminded me that I can’t take him for granted; I don’t have the time.