Chapter 27. Aging Gives Us a Shot Across the Bow.

We will have to move. 

There are two reasons.  First, our investments alone will not carry us for 20 more years.  Second, neither of us have the physical strength or health to do the necessary upkeep on the house and gardens.  Yes.  We could hire it out but that defeats the purpose of living here. But, we can’t move until our sweet Boomer has left us.  He wouldn’t adapt well, plus he refuses to get in or out of elevators.  That’s another story.

So, in preparing for this eventual move, we have been looking at alternatives.  We began with apartments.  We toured several and they were gorgeous.  The most recent one was in the Golden Triangle neighborhood and had floor to ceiling windows and views of the mountains and downtown.  We could afford it and it was stunning. It had all the amenities we wanted: dog park, dog washing stations, pool, work-out room and even a Speakeasy.  But there was no way of developing a community. It was filled with healthy, young people and we’d feel isolated because, truth told, young people are not interested in talking with old folks.  Now, today’s youth is more accommodating of us elders, but accommodation doesn’t create friendships in which you go do things together.  The world hasn’t changed that much since I was young and ignorant of the existence of elders.  

Then we looked at a 55+ building in Stapleton (Sorry. Central Park.)  It wasn’t gorgeous but it was well kept, warm, inviting, and friendly. The minute we walked in, two older ladies greeted us.   They were residents.  The 55+ apartments had activities, a dog park, raised gardens for veggies planted by residents, speakers, exercise, work out room and free membership at a nearby rec center, and within walking distance from the Town Center.  They welcome 2 dogs with no weight restrictions. The two-bedroom apartment was similar in size to other apartments we had seen.  No spectacular views though.  No gorgeous finishes.  KInda plain. But there would be a built-in community.

Now, we’re looking at moving to San Miguel de Allende in Mexico.  Our money would last forever there.  San Miguel is beautiful, low-crime, artsy and the climate is nice because of its altitude which is higher than Denver. There’s a large Jewish population so we could meet people through the synagogue or Jewish Community Center. I know a woman who has lived there for 14 Years. She tells me its vibrant, exciting and home to lots of old folks walking with canes. Just like GB and me. Lots of pros but the cons include loss of our friends and family in Denver.  Would we find health care that knows how to deal with GB’s shunt?  My arachnoiditis (although I’m not sure my current health “team” knows how to deal with it anyway).  And we don’t speak Spanish.  Could either of us learn a new language when we can barely remember the name of the woman who hosts Face the Nation? (It’s Margaret Brennan.  I had to look it up.) 

It’s a shot across the bow.  Aging is now dictating what we think, how we plan, what we do. I don’t like that.  I have never planned my life.  Didn’t see the need to.  If I liked it, I did it.  But now, plans must incorporate my health.  And GB’s.  We figure we have 20 years left and how do we live those?  How do we plan when the last twenty years are about physical and mental decline.  

This decision, selling the home and gardens we love and moving to somewhere else has forced a recognition of the inevitable.  It’s an unpleasant fact and I can’t find the words to do it justice.  The time has come that I need to plan my future.  I will consider what it may hold, pros and cons.  I will seek new experiences, but they may be tempered by physical challenges.  I haven’t been able to ski this year because of a fall I took last August.  It still hasn’t healed, and my walk is hampered by pain, lack of coordination and limping. How do I tackle a hike?  How do I even plan a trip to a museum?  

I wrote about my mother leaving her home and moving to an apartment after my dad died.  She walked out and never looked back.  I don’t know where she found the strength to do that. But, I never asked.  I didn’t understand the ramifications of growing old, then.  And now I’m beginning to get it.

Leaving is painful.  Moving somewhere new is more painful.  It’s because it’s not remotely the same as when we moved from our old house on South Franklin to our new one on South Niagara.  Then, we were excited about what the future would hold.  We had careers, dogs, cats, lots of friends, parties, gardens to build, a house to remodel.  It was all in front of us.  And now it’s all behind.  The friends have dwindled, the parties are gone, the gardens are overgrown. The new life, the next move takes us closer to what we have avoided our entire lives.  Is the next step just the first towards assisted living, nursing home, death? 

What amazes me is that I’ve never thought of this before.  I guess no one does until they are faced with the reality of aging; that things change and not necessarily for the better; that one is forced to accept the limitations that may exist for tired, achy bodies that have been used well, but used, nevertheless.

Will I find a more optimistic view of all this?  Yes.  I will.  I always have.