Sometimes she’d mention the weather. Other times she’d ask if my joints were bothering me when it was cold. The exchanges were brief, but they felt genuine. Not rushed. Not forced.
I didn’t realize how much I valued those few minutes of acknowledgment until they became part of my routine.
A Familiar Face Matters More Than You Think
It reminded me that I was visible.
In retirement, invisibility can creep up on you. You’re no longer needed in the same way. No one expects you to show up at a certain hour or contribute to a meeting. That simple recognition, a name spoken out loud, can mean more than it should.
I started timing my mornings around that visit. If I woke up feeling restless or aimless, I told myself, “Just go get your coffee.” That was enough to get me moving.
I didn’t think of it as loneliness at the time. I thought of it as habit.
When the Routine Breaks
Then one morning, the routine broke.
I walked into the café, nodded at the counter, and waited for her familiar greeting.
It didn’t come.
Someone else took my order. Polite. Efficient. But not her.
But the next day, she still wasn’t there.
And the next.
Her absence felt larger than it should have. The café was the same, the coffee tasted the same, but something essential was missing. The brief connection I’d come to rely on had quietly disappeared.
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