My perspective on aging changed when my friend died. This is the clarity I got as I entered my 60s
This first-person account is the experience of Dana Kobernik, who lives in Montreal. For more information on CBC’s first-person stories, please visit FAQ,
I recently passed another milestone birthday, and yet the familiar fear of reluctantly slipping into a new decade has subsided somewhat.
The quiet realization that my tomorrows are greater than my tomorrows seems less of a threat and more of a gift.
I have discovered that aging is a privilege. It doesn’t always feel that way because to me – whether based on reality or perception – aging is synonymous with decline, which is the gradual slowing down of both mind and body.
But then I lost someone who never got the chance, and it made me look at things differently.
My dear friend Natalie died about a year ago at the age of 57 after a short illness. I was devastated by this loss.
To me, Natalie looked older. Not because of her physical stature, not because she wanted to be in the spotlight, but because she had a calming and nurturing presence that made you feel like you mattered.
We met in statistics class at university 30 years ago. We were introduced by a mutual friend, Lorraine, and a deep and meaningful friendship grew despite her move from Montreal to Toronto.
What strengthened our bond went far beyond the many trips we took together, weekends at her cottage, the births of her children, my unforgettable 50th birthday celebration in New York City, and other life events.
It was quiet stability: the unwavering presence we provided for each other through life’s inevitable changes and challenges. My friendship was – or is, I should say – a friendship built on trust, laughter and the kind of loyalty that asks for nothing but gives everything.
Natalie was a light in many people’s lives. I am fortunate that her husband and Lorraine are her close companions, keeping her spirit alive through the many stories we share and the memories we pursue together.
The story of “The Davids” is one that will live on. Natalie married David R. Married to. Lorraine met David B. at Natalie’s wedding and eventually married him. At some point, Natalie declared it a necessity: I too must find David and marry him. I jokingly said that this limited the field considerably. As it turns out, just three decades later, in 2023, I met David K. Got married go figure.
Natalie had a way of being there even when she wasn’t. When Lorraine and I would reminisce about things she and I had experienced together, Natalie would sometimes recount her own vivid memories. We’ll stop and laugh out loud: “Nat, you weren’t there,” we’ll say.
“I was not there?” she asked, genuinely surprised, as if the memory had somehow woven itself into her story too.
“Are you sure? I feel like I was.”
It was Natalie. So completely attuned that he made our lives his own.
About a month before Natalie passed away, my husband and I visited Toronto. We didn’t tell Natalie that the reason for our trip was to meet her, although I suspect she knew.
Normally, she would feel obligated to play host and I didn’t want to burden her with that. I was also afraid that she would think we were coming to say goodbye. The truth is that the fear was mine, although not unfounded.
During the few hours we were together, she was being herself – laughing, teasing me – as she was wont to do, and perhaps quietly resigned to moving on. She seemed calm and, despite my heartbreak, I consoled myself by her strength and resilience as she faced the thing many of us fear most.
It was that resilience, that courageous acceptance, that impressed me deeply. Natalie faced death with bravery and dignity, and I am learning to face the challenges of aging with a determination that transforms uncertainty and apprehension into gratitude.
To be clear, Natalie also endured what could be expected of someone who suffered such a major shock. I know this, even though she saved me from what she was going through.
In the same way, I realize that my new perspective doesn’t mean that my fears will disappear completely, that the memories of my youth, where endless opportunities were ahead, won’t cause some pain, or that the prospect of declining health will never outweigh the burden.
So, as I attempt to follow Natalie’s lead and move forward with perseverance, I realize that this strength will naturally wax and wane – ups and downs that are part of living fully.
While I try to understand a world without Natalie’s physical presence, I have a deep sense of appreciation for what she has given me and what I look forward to.
Celebrating her 60th birthday this month, her absence feels like both a loss and a lens: for me it’s a way to see clearly how extraordinary aging is, and to do it with love, grace, and friendship.
I don’t want this next chapter to be about reinvention or regeneration or whatever the world tells me about aging. I want it to be about intention. About knowing what matters. About paying attention.
I want to live the way he wanted to live: fully in every moment, even the ones that weren’t his.
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