I Wonder What Happened To...?

Digital art collage by Stella Kalaw

I'm constantly surprised at myself as I climb the aging ladder.

My latest aging fixation is finding people from my distant past. Given my age, going back 50 years is not difficult. In my 20s, I was trying to change the world—one neighbourhood or issue at a time. I lived communally, worked on social issues, had dozens of very close friends, a lover or two, and colleagues from several different political groups.

My newest aging wrinkle started with a casual thought: "I wonder what happened to __________ (fill in the blank)." 

Normal people who have these thoughts might do a quick Google search and move on if they find nothing of note. Or if they were lucky, they'd stumble on a Facebook page of someone older who looks sort of like their friend, surrounded by grandchildren, and then they'd move on. 

Not me. I take the scenic road to a Google search. The person's name becomes a daily tug, slowly turning into an obsession, and only then do I move to Google. If the name doesn't easily come up in the search results, I'm like a dog looking for a hidden bone. I've actually worked as a film researcher, so I've now turned this "whatever happened to…" query into an unpaid, self-assigned contract.

When I finally track someone down, my approach is direct. I send an email and tell them I’m coming to town: "Hi there. It's me. Wanna have dinner?"

My latest sojourn into the past took me to Halifax, where four people from my distant past now reside. Three of them knew each other "back in the day" but no longer socialize. The fourth, an old boyfriend from Vancouver, lives close by but remains unaware of the others' existence there.

And to put this preoccupation in perspective:  I drove 12 hours there and 12 hours back to satisfy my curiosity.

Each meeting started out with reminiscing about the past. Are you in touch with so and so and what's happening with them? Then moved onto the present and what we were each doing in our lives, kids, grandkids, friends, work, retirement.

From time to time, I had to shake myself to realize the person sitting across from me was my friend from the past and not some aging stand-in with the same name. I'm absolutely sure, they were going through the same thing with me.

But then a laugh, a gesture, a turn of phrase, a point of view would anchor me in the present and the 12-hour drive was justified.

Another surprise was that the conversations were not just about the past. As common experiences were remembered and our bond rekindled, we moved on to discussions about the state of the world, aging issues, common friends, difficulties we faced, friends we've lost. These, more profound conversations, reminded me why this person was part of my life to begin with.

The age issue came up again when I wondered to myself if it would be the last time I'd see these friends. When the conversations you have with someone include an overview of your life, what would be a second conversation if you're not in each other's orbit? 

Now that I'm home and out of the car, I'm trying to figure out if I should continue on this "Whatever happened to….?" journey. I've lived in Toronto, Vancouver, Ohio and Ottawa so I could repeat the experience—although driving to Vancouver might be a bit over the top.

Part of me thinks this could be an excellent aging project. While many of my Montreal friends are busy travelling the world, it’s well known I’m a terrible tourist.  I have no inclination to see statues, museums or historical monuments. 

Maybe this is my own crazy take on senior travel.