Aging Is Coming For You

How to look forward to your old age

My  husband visited his mother recently in her apartment in the city that’s a plane ride away. She’s 90 and insists on living there alone. Her doctor has encouraged her on multiple occasions to move into an assisted living community but she refuses. Healthwise, she’s pretty normal. There’s no official dementia, just what I’d call a bit of brain atrophy. She clings to this apartment, saying how she loves it there and in her beloved city, even though I suspect she embellishes her affection for it lest anyone decides to encourage her into a more suitable situation.

I look at all this from afar, wondering what will become of her, or of me or my husband, or anyone else I know who’s facing the same thing we all will someday. Aging. At first, her choice seemed unique. She liked the city, did not need to drive thanks to public transportation, had a grocery store in walking distance, could have most things delivered. Her bank and dentist are in her building and a highly-regarded medical facility is a taxi-drive away. She used to take the subway all over the city to go to the Polish bakery or the neighborhood estate sales she loves. Since she’s always preferred city life, why not just stay put?

Then the politics of her city caused a dramatic change in crime rates as the new mayor held a hands-off street crimes policy. She’s now afraid to get on the subway because shots in the tunnels are a regular occurrence. Her once mostly-safe neighborhood has been encroached on by gunmen. The occasional harassment she encountered on her trips to the grocery became more aggressive. Her solution to all of this is to step around it. Taxis instead of subway. Busses on occasion (although her regular routes have also had violent encounters). No outings at all after dark, but very few now in the day either.

My husband says she stares at the apartment building’s lobby monitor on television most days to watch others coming and going. Days go by with no human contact. I wonder if this lack of engagement is affecting the slight brain atrophy. She mentioned to me that there’s nothing good on TV so I suggested a program with six seasons I thought she would love. But remembering how to switch away from cable television to a streaming channel or a disc and then return to cable when she’s done is intimidating, even though she has notes on it from her son’s visits. So she watches the lobby instead.

This is not the way I envision most of us aging. At least the ones I’ve had firsthand knowledge of so far tend to go out under medical supervision of some sort. Disease strikes first and that’s the end of making choices about where or how we’ll live. Or there’s a sudden death right in the middle of reaching for your next activity. Then you’ve exited the earth while a machine in your laundry room is still drying clothes you’ll never again wear.

None of those are preferable ends, certainly. She’s in a situation many would call lucky. She can afford to stay put in a quiet middleclass life without making any big changes. A visit some years ago to an assisted living facility to tour it with a neighbor was the final end to that possibility. What bothered her the most was seeing residents sitting around a table with crayons and paper. I wonder if they really were crayons, or she chose that word for emphasis on the patronizing way the elderly are often treated. Now any time someone mentions an alternative living situation, all she has to do is hold up a crayon and shake her head no.

The options are not great for any of us in our later years. No one wants to move against their will. But not many would look forward to years of sitting alone in an apartment, staring at the lobby channel. For now, and as long as she’s able, the choice is hers. What about the rest of us? Why haven’t we figured this part of life out better?

My father moved into a retirement community at a relatively early age. He had his own house and neighbors he liked. Golf was onsite. His piano just squeezed into the living room. He had managed as best he could until illness took him out at a young age. He’d done the preparation part, but his health didn’t cooperate. Another friend couldn’t wait to move into a retirement setting as soon as she was able because it provided a built-in party scene for people her age. This kind of forced closeness and friendship is as repulsive to me as the lobby channel.

As far as I know, I’m still a good ways from having to take action for myself. But if I had to choose right now, I’d probably do a little of what she’s doing: stay put. Hire help for things I couldn’t handle even though I don’t know what that is yet. But one thing I intend to do differently is avoid the brain atrophy through mental stimulation that comes with doing things I love. I’m lucky that way. I’ve never been a big party socializer, but boy is there a party going on in my head. Writing. Reading. Painting. Learning. There’s not enough time for it. And I’m hoping that if I’m in the fortunate position in my elderly years to only have to solve the problem of boredom and loneliness, I’ll still be able to actively participate in this delicious internal life that keeps me happy.

We tend to hate thinking about old age as much as we hate talking about death. That’s how so many wind up being whisked into crayon land against their will. Maybe if we can shift our internal picture of what our old age will look like to what it could look like, we can start to envision a time of life that’s more than “not bad.” Maybe it can be a time free of obligations with a calendar full of creativity.

Expect a lot of writing from me, dear readers.