My father prided himself in his stubbornness. When it was clear he needed a walker, he refused. He agreed to a cane. No walker. And, as a result, he rarely went anywhere.
Using a walker would have meant the difference between going somewhere and staying home. Between another cruise and going nowhere. A football game and staying home.
He chose home.
He sat at home day after day sorting things. He arranged his drawers. He put pennies into paper cylinders. He arranged his desk, paper clips in one section, pens in another.
He refused to sell the house. My mother agreed.
He was isolated. She remained active.
Like so many others, both my parents believed that the most important thing one can do in aging is to die in their own home.
Think about that. Stay in the home where you’ve lived for 50 or 60 years, the home where you raised your families, tended the gardens, hosted parties. The home that holds the collective memories created by the family.
But the pleasure of living in their own home had long since passed by my parents. The house was run down, fraying at the edges. Cabinets were old, oil stained, and worn. Walls were a bit grimy. The house they bought in 1959 no longer had its sparkle by 2010. The laundry machines were in the basement and required frequent trips up and down the stairs. The kitchen appliances were old, scratched, chipped and still housed in their pink ‘50’s styled casings.
Despite this, they refused to move. “You’ll have to take me out of here feet first,” declared my father.
Finally, finances made the difference. My father realized that at 96, he was dying and my mother wouldn’t have enough money if the home wasn’t sold. Just before he went into a nursing home, he agreed to sell. We did. We told him, he said, “Good” and died the next day. The money from the sale enabled my mom to live in an apartment, then move to assisted living.
It all worked out, sort of. My dad’s final years were spent in lonely silence. His macular degeneration made it difficult for him to read or enjoy tv. His refusal to use a walker only increased his isolation. He never complained. He never asked for anything. He just stubbornly lived his life. In my mind, he didn’t age successfully.
Their mindset to remain in their home clouded rational decision-making. There were other options other than staying in their home. There were apartments. There was “independent living” that could transition, if need be, to assisted living arrangements. They must have known these options were available but for some reason, they believed that they would be “failures” if they left their home.
I’m going to suggest that this thinking is counterproductive. I believe aging does not have to wear us down, it doesn’t have to demand superhuman feats of remaining in a burdensome home. I think aging can be successful if three things are considered: self-awareness, acceptance, and place.
Self-awareness is tough. I look at myself in the mirror and usually see what I want to see, a well-put together woman. But on occasion, I pass an unfriendly mirror and see what I really look like. Ouch! Self-awareness strikes home. But more to the point, I am aware of my aches and pains not so much in that they hurt, rather, what limitations they might impose on my body. But the answer isn’t to stop doing what I like to do. The answer lies into learning how I can work around the new restrictions. I always loved challenges and aging presents a whole new set of them! I know I can’t ski bumps, but I can ski intermediate slopes, and, in a couple of years, those might turn into beginners. I know I can’t climb a 14’r (actually, never have, never wanted to), but I can take a nice mountain hike. Being self-aware can lead in two directions: acceptance or denial.
My father was self-aware but stayed in a state of denial. He wasn’t willing to pursue options that would have lessened his isolation. I know he hated the isolation because my mother would beg me to visit him more. To my regret, I didn’t. Perhaps because I was angry with him. Sad that the man who had been so strong, so upright had chosen to spend his last years sorting through the minutia of his life.
I think people have a negative attitude towards “acceptance”. I suspect some might believe that acceptance is akin to acquiescence. It’s not. It’s simply understanding that something has changed in one’s body, whether its muscles, arthritis, eyesight, hearing, balance; whatever it is. Something changed. Accepting that it’s okay is the first step. Finding ways to work around is the second.
And that leads me to that concept of remaining in “your own home”. My parents never wanted to leave their home. But why? How did that improve the quality of our lives? It didn’t. It was a strain on my mother, and it was a prison for my dad.
This concept, age in place, stay in your home, can be, I believe, terribly counterproductive. It has the aura of a healthy, aged person spending time walking her dog, tending her garden, hosting bridge games and happily greeting giggling grandchildren at the front door. But I think the reality is oftentimes far different. In my own life, my dinner parties for twelve and picnics for thirty had long since left my entertaining palette. My love of the garden was overwhelmed by the back breaking work. My happiness with the chickens ended each time I had to clean out the coop, scooping up pounds of straw and unloading it into compost bins.
Our move to a 55+ community was fueled by three considerations:
- I could no longer manage the work of maintaining the house, the half-acre gardens and the chickens.
- GB could no longer assist and had trouble maneuvering the property.
- We needed the money from the asset to reinvest.
The results have been dramatic.
- I can easily care for an apartment. When something breaks, I call the manager. It gets fixed immediately. The area is walkable. I walk to the grocery store. I walk to the bakery, the liquor store, the vet, and lunch. I’ve resumed volunteer activities and now am active with five organizations, most of which deal with animals. I’ve made new friends and kept old.
- GB socializes. All the time! He plays poker twice a week, sometimes three if there’s a tournament. He hangs out in the workshop. He’s going to take a community garden spot for the summer. He works out. He walks. He volunteers teaching reading to young people through the Denver and Aurora public schools, he volunteers at the local library (half block away) and he’s on some sort of greeting committee here at Everleigh. He gets to watch the Broncos in the screening room at Everleigh (big screen and I don’t have to be there).
- Our finances are now where they need to be. We have no debt. We can take vacations, although, some will be done without GB. I’ll be headed back to Africa next fall to witness the Great Migration with Road Scholars. Later, GB and I will take a river cruise together. Our recent trip to Mexico convinced both of us that his travel methodology needs to change. Again, self-awareness and acceptance.
I’ll repeat that. Self-awareness and acceptance. Not resignation. Not denial. Acceptance that leads to accommodation.
I think that’s successful aging.
Air. 
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