"I dreaded those days when I had to go visit my grandmother in her nursing home," Ted admitted. "It seemed so final. As a kid, I saw no future for her. She was there to die."
It was an off-hand, personal admission (perhaps to gain attention) 40-ishTed made during his weekly podcast in the spring of 2020 about the health care system in the U.S. He said the COVID crisis was laying bare the weaknesses in the U.S. approach to serve the most vulnerable.
Yes, that may also have been his perception of nursing homes as a child, Ray, Ted's long-time buddy, reminded himself as Ted trailed off into his weekly litany of facts and figures about the pandemic.
And, yes, 30 years ago, Ted's grandmother was perhaps in that kind of situation. But, Ray asked himself after the podcast, didn't Ted realize he was perpetuating a once-common belief that, in its broadest sense, today is rapidly becoming out of date?
Ray's recent journey in his understanding of what one's later years of life can be like is perhaps one that, he now believes, Ted and others of his generation will also eventually experience. And that first-hand experience may change how they approach their senior years.
At 75, Ray felt he was still in his prime, but he and his wife, Ruth, decided to sell their suburban home in Rochester, New York, and move into a new graduated care facility, Metro Senior Community, which included a day care center and where they had easy access to restaurants, theaters, medical services, and the University of Rochester.
Not having a home to maintain would give both Ray and Ruth time – time for Ray to finish his novel about his Vietnam experiences and Ruth to further develop her Etsy.com business, featuring personalized books for children under five.
But, two weeks after their move to Metro Senior Community, Ray had a stroke, leaving his left leg weak – weak enough so he now needed a walker to get around. Ray surmised his stroke was the result of the stress he felt in selling their house and making the move – and downsizing by half of what they had left behind.
For six weeks, Ray was preoccupied with his loss of mobility, a shock that he needed to address each time he met with his therapist – not the retirement he envisioned just 10 years earlier. The rehab work and the grief about his loss of mobility gobbled up his time – the time he went through to be able to walk with his walker. He lost interest in completing his novel. In fact, he hadn't given it a second thought since his stroke.
The other thing that gave him grief was the loss of his confident, bellowing voice. He was once a somewhat popular lecturer on campus about creative writing. But now his speech had become sloppy, sometimes not understandable by others and even Ruth. Now he often felt lonely and alone, even with Ruth by his side, and longed for the robust conversations they would have with friends they would invite to their home on Saturday nights.
Alone and lonely. Was this the way the final chapter in Ray's life would end?
During the first couple of weeks in his rehab work, Ray preferred to have dinner along with Ruth in their apartment instead of joining his fellow residents downstairs in the Metropolitan Senior Community dining room. He didn't want to visit with anyone because it was just too difficult for everyone involved, including himself.
But, one Wednesday night's menu featured pan-fried walleyed pike, a special for which nearly everyone dressed up in their best every-day wear and gathered around tables of five or six topped with white linen cloth. He couldn't resist walleye with wine and a white tablecloth.
The table conversation, to Ray's amusement, went something like this:
Chuck, describing the dinner plate June, the waitress, placed in front of his wife, Mary, who is visually impaired: "Your walleye is at 12 o'clock and your rice is at 6:00, dear ..."
Ann, muttering to herself: "My fish could use a little salt ..."
Betty, announcing loudly: "Oh, I thought you said you were assaulted. I thought, Oh, my ... but then I wouldn't mind ..."
Entire group bursts into laughter as Betty asks June for packets of salt and admits, more quietly, that she left her hearing aid back in her apartment.
Kate, piping up: "I don't understand why Medicare doesn't cover hearing aids. I'm thinking I need them, too. ..."
Chuck: "It's because it's a lucrative, private market. Medicare coverage would cut those profits. At least, that's what the senator from California says. What's her name?"
Ann: "Oh, I know who you mean ..."
Kate: "Can't think of it. You know, the outspoken gal from California. Always on MSNBC ..."
Ray: "Maxine Waters?"
Ann: "What?
Ruth: "Maxine Waters?"
Kate: "That's it. Maxine Waters. She's always saying how screwed up our health insurance setup is. It's one of the reasons why my husband and I never divorced. He had a good government job in DC and has better health insurance than I ever had. We've been separated for years. He has a live-in girlfriend, but I have his insurance!"
Clara: "That's why Rich and I never married. Money. Taxes. We're just buddies ..."
Betty: "Best buds are sometimes the most. I met this guy at Berkeley during the 60s. We explored California in his MG ..."
Chuckles from the group.
Ray: "So you were a 'flower child' in the '60s?"
Betty: "A what?"
Ruth: "Flower child. You know ... 'If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair' ..."
Betty: "I guess so ..."
Entire group again bursts into laughter.
Ann: "You know what's funny: Each one of us is finding a way to help each other in the little ways we need help. We're interpreters for each other when clarification is needed. You don't often find that in the real world ..."
For weeks after, Ray thought about that night with the walleyed pike and the group of strangers who soon became his family, who allowed him the freedom to be who he was: a guy with walking and speaking challenges that didn't define who he was or could become. He had found a community in which he was free to shape the next chapter in his life.
That feeling of freedom also gave him the opportunity to switch gears in his writing. He decided to put his Vietnam novel on hold and concentrate on something new. He realized he was now a better listener than a speaker and needed to write a non-fiction book based on every-day comments he was hearing from his fellow residents.
Now, a year later, Ray has published his latest paperback, "FREE TO BE: 50 Tips for Growing Whole (Not Old) in Senior Living Communities." He has developed a business plan for seeking corporate sponsorships for various versions of the book among major senior living organizations in the U.S.
Ruth has established herself as a volunteer reader for the three-year-old children in the day care center of Metro Senior Community – sometimes reading the same personalized books she is selling online.
And they both are quietly enjoying the stories they are hearing from their fellow residents about how to avoid taxes, reduce rental payments and make the most of health insurance coverage through creative living arrangements.
Ray and Ruth's takeaway tip from their story: Share your personal stories with family and friends. That will help you heal and grow.
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