When the People Who Helped Shape Your Life Begin to Disappear

By Jon Blaine

There is a particular kind of loneliness that can come with getting older.

It isn’t necessarily the loneliness of having no one around. You can have friends, family, coworkers, neighbors, and people who care about you and still feel profoundly alone.

Sometimes the loneliness comes from realizing that the people who once made up the foundation of your life are slowly disappearing.

For a 65-year-old gay man, that realization can hit especially hard.

Over the years, he has watched older friends pass away. Mentors who once gave him advice are gone. Business associates who knew his history and understood where he came from are no longer here. People he could call when he needed encouragement, perspective, or simply someone who understood him have gradually disappeared.

At first, each loss may seem like an isolated event.

Then one day, he looks around and realizes something has changed.

The people who used to be ahead of him are no longer there.

And suddenly, he is one of the older people in the room.

That realization can be frightening.

“Who Do I Call Now?”

When you’re younger, you often have people to look up to.

There is always someone who seems to know more than you do—an older friend, a boss, a mentor, a community leader, or someone who has already experienced the things you are going through.

You assume those people will always be there.

Then life happens.

A mentor dies.

A longtime friend becomes seriously ill.

A former business partner passes away.

Someone you used to talk to every week is suddenly gone.

And eventually you may find yourself asking a question you never expected to ask:

“Who do I call now?”

That question can hurt.

It’s not simply about missing the person. It’s about missing the role they played in your life.

They may have been the person who believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself. They may have encouraged your career, helped you through a difficult relationship, given you advice about money or business, or simply reminded you that you were capable of more.

When that person is gone, there can be a feeling that a piece of your own history has disappeared with them.

The Feeling That Time Is Running Out

At 65, mortality becomes harder to ignore.

When you’re 30, 40 can seem old.

When you’re 40, 50 still seems comfortably far away.

But eventually you reach an age when you realize that the future is no longer an unlimited number of years.

You start doing the math.

How many good years do I have left?

What do I still want to accomplish?

Who will still be here in another ten or twenty years?

Will I have enough people around me?

Will I be remembered?

These questions can create anxiety, sadness, and even grief for a life that hasn’t happened yet.

There can also be regret.

Maybe there were things he wanted to do but kept putting off. Maybe there were relationships he wishes he had handled differently. Maybe there were dreams he thought he had plenty of time to pursue.

Suddenly, “someday” doesn’t feel quite as comfortable as it once did.

Growing Older as a Gay Man

There is another layer to this experience for many gay men.

For older generations of gay men, life was often very different.

Some grew up when being openly gay could cost someone their job, their family, their reputation, or even their safety.

Many learned to create their own families through friendships and community.

Those friendships weren’t casual.

They were survival.

The friends who stood beside you often became your family.

The people who welcomed you when you were young could become the people who knew your entire story.

So when those people begin to die, it can feel like more than losing a friend.

It can feel like losing part of your community.

Part of your history.

Part of the world that helped you become who you are.

Grief Doesn’t Always Look Like Crying

Sometimes grief is crying.

Sometimes it’s anger.

Sometimes it’s depression.

But sometimes grief looks like sitting quietly in your house and thinking about someone you haven’t spoken to in years.

Sometimes it is seeing an old photograph.

Hearing a song.

Driving past a restaurant where you used to meet.

Or remembering a conversation that you didn’t realize would be your last.

And sometimes grief is simply the strange feeling of realizing:

“There aren’t many people left who remember that part of my life.”

That can be incredibly painful.

But it is also a reminder of something important.

The fact that someone is no longer here doesn’t mean what they gave you is gone.

Their advice may still influence you.

Their humor may still make you smile.

Their courage may still inspire you.

The lessons they taught you may have become part of who you are.

In that way, people can continue to live through us.

What Do We Do With the Fear?

There may not be a simple answer.

You cannot replace the people you’ve lost.

You cannot stop time.

And you cannot make the people you love live forever.

But you can make a decision about what you do with the time you still have.

You can reach out to people.

You can make new friendships.

You can become a mentor to someone younger.

You can reconnect with an old friend.

You can join a community.

You can start the project you’ve been putting off.

You can say “I love you” more often.

You can tell someone what they mean to you while they’re still here.

And perhaps most importantly, you can stop believing that your most meaningful years are necessarily behind you.

At 65, there is still time to become someone else’s mentor.

There is still time to make a new friend who may become one of the most important people in your life.

There is still time to fall in love, build something, travel, create, volunteer, sing, laugh, and discover parts of yourself you haven’t explored yet.

Becoming the Older Friend

Maybe this is one of the hardest transitions of all.

Eventually, the person who once needed mentors becomes the mentor.

The person who once looked to older friends for advice becomes the older friend.

And that can feel strange.

But it can also be a gift.

There are younger gay men today who need exactly what previous generations gave us: someone who understands, someone who has lived through difficult times, someone who can say, “I’ve been there. You’re going to be okay.”

Perhaps the next chapter isn’t about replacing the people we’ve lost.

Perhaps it is about carrying them forward.

Taking the wisdom they gave us and passing it to someone else.

We Are Still Here

Growing older can make us more aware of death.

But it can also make us more aware of life.

Every friend who has passed reminds us that our time matters.

Every mentor we’ve lost reminds us that what we give other people matters.

Every goodbye reminds us not to postpone every hello.

A 65-year-old gay man may look around and realize that his circle has gotten smaller.

That hurts.

He may feel that his support system is disappearing.

That fear is real.

But his story isn’t over.

Maybe the people who came before him helped him become the man he is today.

And now, perhaps, it is his turn to be that person for someone else.

He doesn’t have to stop missing the people who are gone.

He doesn’t have to pretend that getting older isn’t frightening.

He simply has to remember that there are still chapters left to write.

The goal isn’t to live without loss.

The goal is to keep living, loving, connecting, and giving while we are still here.

And sometimes, the best way to honor the people we’ve lost is to make sure the wisdom, kindness, friendship, and love they gave us doesn’t disappear with them.