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Having children is a winner-take-all insurance policy, which you pay into with years of tuition and braces, worry and love, and in old age you get to collect. But, as with other insurance plans, benefits accrue when things go bad.
So, after my furnace briefly died last winter, and I coughed my way through the pandemic alone, my children proposed I give up my longtime home and get a condo closer to them. They meant well and there were good reasons to do so: I have a big house and I am just one person. There was the promise of Sunday dinners, better medical coverage where my kids live, convenience (for them) and safety (for me), not to mention the let’s-not-talk-about worst-case scenarios surely lurking right around the corner with my upcoming 85th birthday.
It made sense.
Yet every time I thought about it, I felt slightly sick. I love my house, an “easy” house, a ranch-style house and I love my small town. I have many familiar community connections — at the library and bookstore and pharmacy, a dentist, a lawn guy, a vet and dog sitter. The woman who cuts my hair has been my doing it for 25 years. My husband’s burial plot is a five-minute drive away.
In other words, this is home. And though I admit that living alone in a country house in my mid-80s has its challenges, I want to stay here for as long as I can. So, despite the guilt of saying “no” to my kids, I decided to build on the connections, take on the challenges and find a way to stay.
Using a model from other such groups, I put a notice in the weekly library bulletin, inviting any older people living alone and wanting to stay put, to get together. About 10 people showed up. We met on the porch of a local tavern. It was a diverse assortment of souls whose paths might never have crossed, had we not all been experiencing many things in common, such as aging, loss, loneliness, changes in health and worry about holding together lives we had been living and loving for so long.
We met all summer, sometimes only a handful of us, glued together by our common needs, getting to know and like each other despite our differences. By the time the weather turned and we moved indoors (the library gave us a space), word of mouth had helped us grow to 20, then 30. Now, more than a year in, we are thriving.
We are new friends, growing closer, who have much in common.
What do we do as a group? Practical things, first of all. Since part of staying safely in place as we age is keeping our homes in good repair, we built a list of (ever-changing) local providers of services — roofers, plumbers, electricians, drivers, tree trimmers, whom we trust. And since we have to keep ourselves in good repair, too, we research doctors and dentists, as well as help ailing members by doing little chores, giving rides, offering soup and comfort.
We are even making some headway in bringing a much-needed Urgent Care to our town. We have fun, too. For example, this summer we decided since all old people are alleged to be wise, we would host a booth at the annual Library Fair to dispense wisdom (free) and home-baked cookies ($2) to raise money for the library. “Smart Cookies” was a hit.
We meet, every week, for two hours. (We take turns picking up folks who can’t drive.) Average attendance is about 20. We talk and listen.
Some days the meeting is pragmatic: about winterizing, or how to navigate the Internet or avoid scams. Other days we dig deeper, with stories about our pasts. Have you ever noticed, when you lose the people who knew you in your glory days way back when, you can begin to feel like a condensed version of yourself?
Well, we are an interesting group, who have done interesting things and have great stories to tell. One of us lived in an ashram, another one sailed solo from Bimini to Boston. We are teachers and artists, professor and midwife, a doctor, an environmentalist, a filmmaker, some writers, a shrink or two. What goes on at our meetings is the opposite of small talk; it is big and meaningful, whether it is practical or part of someone’s spellbinding personal history.
We laugh and cry together. This year we are having our first holiday party, a potluck, at my house.
With life expectancy and health initiatives expanding, “aging in place” is a phrase you hear more and more. Distilled to its essence, aging in place is about finding ways to stay in the community which, if you can do it, can add years to your life. (Our group is modeled on several others in our upstate New York area and across the country.)
The information we share with one another and the practical help we give one another is crucial. But for me, what our “staying in place” group has been able to do is build a community that brings together not only who we are now, but who we used to be. Together, we reclaim the dreams we dreamed and the things we did. That gift of attention and time has made a real difference, not only in how old we get to be, but how good it feels getting there.
How many of you are also hoping to age in place? Let us know in the comments below.
Rose Wong
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