Early Saturday morning, while sipping my first cup of coffee, I turned on public radio. I heard a story about the demands and burdens being put on people who must care for their aging baby boomer parents.I had tuned in just as a woman was discussing her personal experience caring for her father, who apparently was dead, but not before suffering some effects of dementia. This woman must have been relatively young herself because she reported that her father had been even younger than me when he passed. I was startled. Younger than me?
I had similar experiences with my own father, except Dad lived to be a very old man. Fortunately, Dad was physically healthy, mentally sharp and lived independently until he was 95. He voluntarily gave up his car around the age of 92 but had had the good sense to stop driving regularly while still in his late eighties. Naturally, I took him to doctor appointments, but these visits were relatively few because he maintained good health. I ran miscellaneous errands for him, would visit at least once per week (usually with tribute consisting of a baker’s dozen of fresh bagels from his favorite deli), called often; my sister brought him groceries. I not only helped him with his bills but eventually took over management of his finances, mainly because I was more adept using a computer and the trappings of modern technology, which is not saying much. Finally, somewhere between his 94th and 95th birthdays, it became evident to us that Dad was getting a bit daft. Without too much resistance on his part, my sister and I were able to move him into a very nice senior facility where he had his own apartment. After 3 months in these new digs, Dad got sepsis and died after a very brief hospital stay. He was 96. All in all, he was a lucky guy.
And now, several years later, sitting by my radio, sipping my coffee, I am thinking, who is going to take care of me?
***
Today, I not only am widowed, but childless and over 65 years old! Some quick research informs me that I fall into the roughly 20% of the population 65 or older without the safety net of a spouse, a son or daughter who will step up to provide me with practical, physical, and emotional support. I learn that I am a so-called “elder orphan,” or, to use the less derisive moniker favored by AARP, I am a “solo ager.”
Regardless of the label, people in my population group have problems with loneliness and isolation, which are associated with higher rates of chronic disease, depression, dementia, and death. According to survey research, AARP equates these heightened risks with the risk of smoking almost a pack of cigarettes each day. The AARP survey finds that, as compared with the overall older population (defined as persons 50 or older), solo agers like me are more likely to fear dying alone, being moved somewhere against their will, or having a court appoint someone to make decisions for them. Not surprisingly, we orphans share several common concerns with the older population generally: maintaining independence, physical strength, good health, sound mental abilities, and adequate financial resources. Nonetheless, the truth is that 70 % of older Americans today will likely need care at some point in their lives.
Despite such dire predictions, we orphans appear to be just as optimistic about the future as our brethren who enjoy spouses, children, or both. In fact, according to surveys, nearly 80% of solo agers report they have done little or no planning for living assistance as they get older. Virtually no one plans for the likelihood that the day will come when he can no longer reside safely in his own home by reserving space in a community for older adults. Only about 20% of us have looked for a cheaper place to live or have made modifications to our homes to accommodate the effects of aging. For example, before Lee died, we had moved from the second floor of our building to the first floor, thereby eliminating some stair climbing. And, as part of the rehab, we removed the flooring thresholds between rooms to reduce the risk of falling. On the other hand, our house at Deer Tick Manor consists of two stories and there is no practical solution for eliminating the staircase. I know that eventually I will need to make some hard decisions whether Deer Tick remains a suitable place for an old man.
The bottom line is, that without any support system, I must take such matters into my own hands.
***
With these thoughts in mind, including a passing nightmare image of myself as a drooling, feeble senior citizen, I end up cruising the internet to investigate the availability of “senior accommodations” nationwide. I learn the decent ones are very expensive; the best likely cost-prohibitive, unless one happens to be extremely well-heeled, which I am not. My initial search focuses on one very highly rated facility located right here in the cold weather city where I live. I sigh. So much for palm trees and sunshine. A virtual 360-degree tour of the place reminds me of the downsized apartment that we had secured for Dad, much like the downsized apartment where my older sister and her much older husband currently reside: I think, a well-appointed cage. I suddenly am so depressed that I must end my search. Small wonder that older people who are left on their own do not make early plans while they still are able.
***
I never saw Lee look more satisfied or content than on the day that she retired from her job, at last completely free to pursue her dreams. However, shortly before she died, Lee had expressed to me that she felt a bit short-changed by life because she was being denied this very opportunity. I think this may have been her primary regret. One of the things that most saddens me to this day concerning her death is the fact that cancer cheated Lee out of the good life with me that she had long envisioned for us. All she wanted was to share our lives together into our dotage. I felt grateful and blessed to be the happy beneficiary of so much love.
If this coin has a flip side, then I am it. I am become Lee’s elder orphan, and must fend for myself.
