My move was relatively painless. I
hired a professional to shepherd me through the entire process, liaise with
the retirement village, and arrange movers and packers. By the time I moved, my little garden was
already laid out, the house was clean, my possessions in cupboards, and I
slept comfortably, in my dear own bed.
Everything bustled. My house was alive with artisans and
functionaries who gave me the spiel on how things worked. I was shown the panic buttons, and how to use
the internal telephone, and neighbors came to say ‘hello’. I was given flowers and lunch vouchers as a
gift. Over the next few days, the empty
cartons were spirited away, my fixtures put up, and smiling men connected my
television and took care of problems. I felt like I’d fallen into heaven.
Finding friends
I need not have worried about making
new friends. People are instinctively
friendly and reach out. For some, it is
just a pleasant ‘hello’ and the usual getting-to-know-you chatter. Where do you come from? How long have you
been in Israel? Do you speak Hebrew? Do you have a partner? Usually, when people heard I was on my own
without children in Israel, their faces grew sad. Nu, I know this reaction. I wanted to reassure them; I’m used to living
on my own; I like my life.
Living in a closed society can get
pretty stale, and people welcome the opportunity to make new friends. Some have been living here for years and
know all there is to know about one another.
As Anne said about Zoe, who complained about a meal, “Pah, she doesn’t
remember what she eats. Never mind her
grumbles, she eats everything. I know
what she likes better than she does, herself!”
Moreover, they have all lost friends
along the way. Some have aged and become
infirm. Others are forgetful. Many have aches and pains and answer your
question about their health, with, “I am doing my best”; or “briut, rak
bruit.” They no longer participate in activities they enjoyed for
years. Our bowling green stands sad and
empty, as does the miniature golf club. People
who used to enjoy these facilities have moved on and the demographic has
changed. Many activities were curtailed during the isolating years of
Covid.
Institutionalization
We worry that we will become
institutionalized. I suppose it is true
that the better we are looked after, the more dependent we will become. But life is never without ripples, breaks,
and challenges. We have to continue
adjusting to changes, and losses. The coming of new people awakens curiosity
and brings new excitement to everyday events.
The best predictor of one’s ability
to make new friends is the past. If you had friends before, you will be open to
new relationships. Old residents make it easy, but you need to be responsive
and assertive in return.
Getting rid of prejudices
What could be a challenge, at least
at the beginning, is living among aging people.
You have to get rid of your ‘ageism’ prejudices and refrain from
classifying people by age, ability, or disability. You get used to seeing
people trundling around with walkers and clutching their caregivers. As you get to know them, you begin to think
of them by names, “Carol” or “Margie” – and not as a class of ‘old’ people.
You get used to repetitive
conversations. People may not remember
your name, or that they have met you. They repeat their stories and jokes. And
people want you to know them; not just as they are now but as they were. A couple, a teacher, a doctor … a functioning
member of the community. On the plus
side, if you suddenly blurt out more about yourself than is comfortable,
chances are that your listener will soon forget your ‘tsoris’; – she has
probably forgotten already.
I have no problem going to the
dining room alone. I just walk up to a
table and ask to join. When I go to
events, there is always a nice someone who invites me to sit next to her. She
could become my new best friend!
Activities
There’s a lot to do and one can try
this or that. The chuggim - activities are free, as are all the materials: paint,
tools, clay – I even have access to a kiln.
I can work out in the gym, do exercise classes, including Zumba for
seniors, balance, Feldenkrais, and yoga.
I enjoy Tai Chi and am tickled pink at having a swimming pool in my own
‘backyard’!
Probably the hardest part of growing
old (aside from illness and loss of function), is dealing with one’s feelings.
For me, it has not been difficult. Maybe it’s because I did a lot of the
emotional work before I ever left my apartment and neighborhood. I have a long
history of saying goodbye to people I have loved and have developed a capacity
for waving away one situation and embracing the next. So, having made my decision, I no longer think
about what I’ve lost.
I ask other people what has been
difficult for them in adjusting to the village. A lot hinges on how the
decision was made, when, and by whom. I
meet ladies who have lost a life partner at an age when they had already become
frail and less resilient. They have come
to the village because it is difficult and lonely to cope on their own, even
with family living close by; even with a caregiver. And others are here because their children wanted
peace of mind. People who come in with their partners do best because couples
do best in our society anyway, and they have built-in companionship. However, all couples face widowhood, and
those already settled in the village are surely at an advantage for being contained
within the structure of predictable routines and understanding people. Widowhood is easier to bear for those already
settled in their future home.
Loss
If I can pick out any single theme
of living here, it is the theme of loss.
You can’t reach your seventh decade without dealing with the loss of
possessions, the loss of continuity, the loss of memories, and the loss of a
future. We need to change doctors, suppliers, and homes. But old age is an
age of loss. We are in the process of
losing our independence and sharpness of thinking. Our senses and reflexes are
dulled; our bodies lose flexibility and function. We look in the mirror and see wrinkles,
hunched shoulders, baggy arms, and a craggy neck. What can we do? This has nothing to do with the transition to
a retirement home – it is just how it feels to grow old.
In old age we are confronted with
the reality of death. Our own death; the
death of those we love. In the village,
the reality is that a new person can only come in when someone else moves out,
and we know what this usually means. The sight and sound of an ambulance give
me gooseflesh. Some people take flight
into busyness; anything to escape thinking about their final destination.
Loneliness
Even within the village, there are
people who are lonely. There are those
who are infirm but don’t yet need a caregiver.
Or maybe they can’t afford one. They
need friendly visitors to pop in and remind them that they still have voices
and something to say. When one goes for
a walk through our lovely park, people stop to exchange a few words. A major factor
in reducing depression is having contact with people. Even little courtesy conversations help
mitigate loneliness. I keep this in
mind, and whenever I pass someone in the village, I stop to chat. Eating in the dining room and trundling back
and forth to one’s apartment is another opportunity to be ‘touched’ by another
person and reminded that one is alive.
As you can imagine, there is much
talk about family. About children,
grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. One woman is over a hundred years old
and surrounded by wonderful children who visit her all the time. She is also surrounded by pictures of some
160 sons, daughters, and offspring across 4 generations. How lucky she is!
I keep in touch with old friends and
have expanded my social circle and activities. I seldom feel lonely. I have taken on some new responsibilities and
try to keep up with my old ones. It has
taken me time, but I have managed to construct a life that is well-balanced,
keeps me busy enough, and keeps my brain active.
I am really happy with my life and
choices. I am happy I made my move while
I am still physically strong and mentally resilient, and am optimistic about my
future.
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