Fall into Spring

Harry M. Berg and “Rose,” July 1977. Photo by Gordon Berg.

By Gordon Berg

Love is often described in spring-like terms: budding, blossoming, blissful. These expressions of renewal are often associated with young people, who may be feeling these emotions for the first time. 

Sadly, at the other end of the age spectrum, we often hear older love referred to in ways that do a disservice to the quality of that love, like an old glove or a twilight love or a December love. Old, tired, worn out. Geesh!

Does it have to be this way? When a person hits 60 do their amorous feelings ride off into to the sunset like an old cowboy with a tired old mare? Maybe. Sometimes. Heck, even Paul McCartney as a teenager pondered this question when he wondered lyrically, “Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?”

Sir Paul is 78 now (way past 64) and will be celebrating a 10th anniversary with his “new bride” this year. You could say he answered his own childhood question with a resounding YES!

Research supports the notion that seniors can find romance later in life. According to The University of Michigan’s Poll on Healthy Aging (2018), nearly three in four (72%) of those 65-80 reported having a current romantic partner (married, partnered or in a relationship). Seventy-two percent!

Consider this. “Lucy” is an old friend of mine from high school. Twice divorced. Single. She shared her life with her beloved dog, Harmony. When she turned 60, she was determined to be true to the vital senior woman she knew herself to be rather than to sideline herself simply because of her age. 

She shocked her friends when she announced to them that she was going to start dating again. Some of her dates had promise. Others were disappointments. Like one guy she really hit it off with on their first date. As they were saying goodnight and she was wondering whether she might see him again, she got her answer, “Wow, Lucy. I really like you. Call me again after your dog dies.” Ouch.

But Lucy persisted and nine years later reconnected with another classmate of ours, and they are now richly sharing their lives together, grateful to be pandemic partners.

And then there was my grandfather. Grandpa grew up in Manistee. He married his best friend’s kid sister. Their love lifted up the other just a little bit higher every day. They even survived a terrifying hurricane together down in Miami in 1926 with their two boys. Later in life, Grandpa stood by my grandma’s side as she developed dementia. Theirs was a true-blue marriage for over 60 years until the day she died. 

A few years after her death, my wife and I (both in our twenties in the 1970s) would sometimes drive Grandpa from Detroit to Manistee to visit his relatives and his buddies. We had fun listening to their colorful stories, always punctuated with laughter. 

One weekend, after the three of us checked into our rooms at Hotel Chippewa, Grandpa mentioned that he wanted us to meet someone new — “Rose,” another former girlfriend from high school. 

Rose was charming, witty and plain-old cute. Her eyes sparkled with youth. She greeted us with warm hugs and treated us to homemade goodies and homespun humor. She even took us for a ride in her pride and joy: a two-tone, powder-blue-and-white, 1950s-era Ford Fairlane Skyliner. It was a great afternoon that ended with a bite to eat at the Captain’s Corner (currently Diner 31). 

After we said our goodbyes, my wife and I drove Grandpa back to the Chippewa, agreed on a time to meet in the hotel restaurant for breakfast and wished each other a goodnight.

The next morning, Grandpa was a no-show. We figured he slept in, so when we finished eating we went upstairs and knocked on his door. No response. We began to panic. The manager checked his room. Grandpa was gone! And it appeared his bed had not been slept in!

Anxiety was creeping in as we drove over to Rose’s house. We rushed up the front porch and knocked on the door. Rose greeted us with a cheery “Good Morning!” and welcomed us inside. There was Grandpa, having a hearty breakfast Rose had cooked up especially for him. Whew!

Neither then, nor in the remainder of Grandpa’s life, did either of us ask what happened that evening. Nobody offered to tell. But, to this day, some 45 years later, that moment still makes us smile and say, “Yeah. You rock, Grandpa!”

Love, like the universe, is ever expanding. That is the natural order of things. It does not shrink-in upon itself. So, in February when we celebrate the gift of love, I hope you find joy. If you’re alone, I hope you find joy in someone new. If you’ve been in a relationship with someone you’ve been with forever, I hope you seek new ways of seeing that person with fresh eyes and an open heart. 

For those of you in the autumn of your lives: always stay curious, seek wonder and, this time around, allow yourselves to fall into spring.

Gordon Berg is a descendent of Manistee’s Bergs, Swansons and Martinsons. His debut book “Harry and the Hurricane” is about his father’s life as a young boy and how he survived The Great Miami Hurricane of 1926. Ask for it in your local bookstore or go online to www.HarryandtheHurricane.com