Like everyone, I have had to cope with several transitions in my life. I have been a child, an adolescent, and a young adult. I left home, got married, and passed through young adulthood. My challenges and pleasures followed a predictable pattern.
Now and again, however, life throws a curve and one finds
oneself on a trajectory that veers away from the beaten track. And when this happens, one must find creative
solutions.
When I lost my husband at the age of 58, I was thrust into
early widowhood. I had never actually even lived on my own. I had always depended on my husband as the
leader of our family. And now I found
myself living in a new country where I did not speak the language and had little
support. I was also struggling through volatile
territory with an angry and rebellious teenager who was unloving and determined
to return to South Africa. Each of these
challenges tested my strength, sanity, and resilience.
Over a period of about 10 years, I lost everyone who was near
and dear – some through my move to Israel, some through their move away, some through
illness and death, and some through the natural processes of growing old.
Each case forced a challenge; to let go of the old and
familiar, and embrace a scary new future. I had to redefine who I was and what my life
would be about. One thing became clear
to me – what was, was … and I had no option but to take my future into
my hands
Since I retired, I have become increasingly aware that I am on
my own. My relationship with my daughter
has healed and today we enjoy a warm and respectful relationship. I am content with this. But she is not going to come back to Israel,
and I will have to struggle through my old age alone. When my father died, two years ago, this was
brought home to me most forcefully, for we were very close and my life
pirouetted around his in a way that was comfortable for us both. For the first
time, I felt truly alone.
I grew afraid. What if
I got sick and could not care for myself?
What if I broke an arm and could not put on my clothes? What if I got dementia? Would my daughter come to help me? Did I really even want her to pick herself up
and sacrifice her life for my needs? And
who would handle my financial affairs?
Who would take responsibility for my dog and cat? Who … what … where?
I discovered that many people worried about the same things.
Even if they had children in Israel … even if they had a ‘good’ social
network. I got sick a few times, and
some of the ‘what ifs’ happened, and they were horrible and scary. My friends were fantastic, but they too had their
problems and crises and could not always help me - nor did I care to keep
testing our relationships. And they too are getting older and some are caring
for partners with dreaded diseases. What
could they do for me? I did what I
could… I took out insurance in case I would need continuous nursing care. I consulted a lawyer and chose who would take
power of attorney over my body and my mind when and if necessary.
Horrible, horrible. I coped but still I worried. Suddenly I developed high blood
pressure. And anxiety. And I was lonely. Without my father to take care of, I felt
like a rolling stone with no moss. No, no! I did not want this to be my life.
Fast forward and I decided to move into Protea Be Kfar, a
retirement village. My choice was based
on the fact that I could take my pets, live semi-independently, and when the
crunch comes, be taken care of. And
moreover, it is a lovely village where life is comfortable from aleph ad
taph! The staff are wonderful and
kind, and there are lots of good things about living here.
So I transitioned again.
I sold a property to finance my move. I fixed up my apartment so that I
could let it, and took on complex business and financial transactions for which
I have little experience. I found
tenants for my flat, who will assure me of an income, and I became a landlord.
And I bought a little house in Protea, where I hope to live
happily and securely, free of worry, for as long as ...
All this sounds chic-chuk and smooth – and relatively
speaking, it was. But a very painful attack of neuralgia along my left leg,
lasting two months, told another truth. I was dealing with a lot of stress. I was
transitioning through a most significant phase of my life and the decisions and
actions I was making would shape my future.
These are some of the most important lessons I have learned …
·
Transitioning involves loss
as well as gains. It means giving up
well-worn ideas and comfortable patterns, as well as taking on new ones. That’s hard. It brings an increase in
insecurity and frustration but also an enlivening feeling of hope sense of
empowerment. Yes, I look forward to new
relationships, opportunities, and adventures.
Transitioning is a great antidote to boredom.
·
This transition for me has
a major psychological meaning. It
involves the acceptance of painful realities: the fact that I am alone,
the fact that I will gradually or not so gradually, lose my independence, the
fact that this march is in one direction only. This is truly a transition into
‘old age’ – of facing the inevitable.
·
People have said to me–
that one of the downsides of living in an aging community, is being around many
old people in various stages of disintegration.
Yuk. When I suggested to my
father who was in his 90’s that he attend a daycare facility for old people, he
was infuriated. He protested that he
didn’t belong with them. He was in his
90’s with dementia, but he could not bring himself to see that he was old.
Coming to live in Protea, is my recognition
and acceptance that I am old and I do belong. I tell myself that I’m one of the younger
ones. But you and I know that 76 is on
the wrong side of ‘young old age.’ It is old. I belong.
·
Life transitions present
challenges. There’s downsizing and getting rid of those treasures
that suddenly you realize your children don’t even want. They’re not going to take the Noritake dinner
services your parents were so proud to give you. You’re never going to play that piano again
because your hands have become arthritic and you might as well give it to
someone who will enjoy it. And as for that19
19-volume encyclopedia – you can’t even give it away. You develop a new understanding of the value
of material objects, and the things that become important to you are only the
ones you actually need. Anything you
haven’t taken out of the cupboard for 10 years, must go. Who needs the
clutter? But getting rid of, is
a challenge. You do it once, and then
you do it again … and then after you’ve
moved, you do it one more time. There’s
no room for baggage – capisce?
·
What about friends? Will I still see my friends? Will they remain friends when I move? Will people like me here? Will I make new
friends? Do I even have the energy to make new friends? Do I need a plan of action? It’s such a
bother!
Two major issues stand out.
The first is that my daughter came to help me move. I mean she accompanied me through this
important rite of passage. I don’t
mean just physically. She accompanied me
through my psychological transition and she made a similar transition at the
same time. This rite of passage was not
only mine – it was hers. She suddenly
was faced with the reality of an elderly parent moving into her last stage of
life – and this demanded a whole lot of psychological and emotional adjusting,
as well. And because she went through it with me, I hope it was real and positive
for her, too.
And the second one is about identity. I’m so happy and strong in the knowledge
that this transition didn’t just happen to me.
I read the writing on the wall. I
faced my reality. I decided to move out
of my comfortable, predictable existence and to take hold of my scary
future. And this is remarkably
empowering and freeing. I know that
there are many things that can happen to disrupt the comfortable future I’ve
created for myself. There could be COVID
or worse. There could be terror or even
war. There could be – who can guess --- but,
within the realm of my imagination and possibilities, I have done the very best
that I can for myself. (And to save my
daughter from having to worry too much.)
And hopefully, I have provided a good role model she can use in taking
care of herself in the future.)
So, for the moment, I am content.
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