Making the Transition

Although most of my friends were supportive of my decision to move into a CCRC, I knew that, secretly, they thought I was making a big mistake; that I was too young to make such a drastic change in my life. But, I told myself, they all still had husbands, and didn't know what it was like to eat dinner alone every night, on a tray in front of the TV; to go to bed alone every night, and wake up alone every morning; and to wander through the dark house, on sleepless nights, remembering…

The hardest part of any move other than having to say "goodbye" to  wonderful neighbors, is going through all the accumulated "stuff" and deciding what to keep and what to sell, or give away, or donate. This time, fortunately, the people who bought my house also bought most of my furniture, and I was able to sell all my office furniture to friends, but there were still plenty of other decisions to make. I decided to start with the family pictures—boxes of them, drawers of them, envelopes of them—too many to begin to count. I had always had the good intention to make albums for each of my four children, but never quite got around to it, instead filling box after box with pictures and moving them from one new home to the next.

Now the time had come to pay the price for my procrastination. I got four large envelopes and after many hours, and more than a few tears, I had gone through them all, throwing away the ones that just had, seemingly random, scenery from long forgotten visits to parks, botanical gardens, and lesser known historical landmarks, and dividing the remaining pictures of family and close friends, sometimes arbitrarily, among the four envelopes. In the end, I needed a fifth envelope and a large box to hold some framed pictures and other mementoes that I couldn't quite decide about. Those went to my oldest daughter, giving her (probably unfairly) the responsibility of deciding what to do with them. I suppose that's the price one has to pay for being the first born. I was a middle child, with no discernible responsibility, except to learn from the mistakes my older sister made and try to avoid making those same mistakes. Of course, she thought I was being a "goody two shoes" in attempt to solidify a spot as the "favorite child," but it was really just about self-preservation.

There's no need to bore you with the rest of the sorting, packing, shopping for new furniture and seemingly endless trips to Goodwill. In the end, it all got done—with more than a little help from my daughters, and close friends—and I found myself in my new apartment, still alone, but, somehow, feeling less alone in this smaller, cozier space. Actually, adjusting to my new apartment was the easy part. It felt like "home" almost from the beginning. As for the rest of it, that took awhile. I'd be lying if I said there were no "what have I done" moments. Of course there were, but I'll save those for the next time.

My Next Act

"It's a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you're ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any."
Hugh Laurie

It's been three years since I last wrote in this blog. It's not because I haven't wanted to, and it's not because I was suffering from "writers' block." I had just reached the point that I had run the gamut of topics on widowhood, and  I knew it was time to make some meaningful changes in my life. It has taken me awhile to figure out what they should be. I had been living alone in my 4-bedroom, 3-full-bathroom home since Art died in 2009,  and, although I didn't feel  lonely—my wonderful friends made sure of that—I often felt very much alone, especially at night. In addition, the house, which was built in 1999, was likely to start needing major improvements (new air condition unit, hot water heater,  roof…) and that worried me.

It was clearly time to downsize, but I wasn't quite sure how I should do that. Should I look for a smaller house; or would an apartment or condo be better? Or should I make the giant leap of moving to a Continuing Care Retirement Community (CCRC) like some friends of mine were considering, and others had actually done. I had visited one of the most popular CCRCs in my area several times and just couldn't see myself living there. It seemed too large—almost like a small city—and impersonal. Then one day I went with friends to visit a different, somewhat newer, CCRC, and the minute I walked into the lobby, I thought, "I think I could see myself living here, but it's too soon. I'm too young.  I'm just not ready yet."

For awhile, it seemed like a condo would be the best option, but I knew there might come a time that even that would be too much for me to handle. As my friends and family have now heard me explain, ad nauseam—perhaps in an effort to convince myself as much as them—I knew that, should I reach the point that I needed care, I didn’t want to move back up North to be near my kids, and I didn’t want them getting a call one day telling them they had to do something about their mother. They would then be in the position of having to find a place to put me. That would mean another move and, more importantly, that was a decision I wanted to make for myself, while I still had my wits about me. The more I looked into it, it made sense to make this decision when I’m still relatively young and healthy, and do away with any worries about future care. I found an apartment I really liked and put my name on a waiting list in February of 2014, fully expecting that it might take a year or more before the type of apartment I wanted would be available. 

Much to my surprise, one became available in just a three months. Of course, when they called me about the availability, I said, "I'm not ready." Obviously, the savvy marketing person I was working with had heard that more than once before, and knew just how to convince me to "at least come look at it." I did, and I liked it, but I still wasn't convinced I was ready. I had the weekend to decide, and, after much soul searching (and a few tears) I decided it was the right thing to do. I knew it was “meant to be” when I sold my home without having to list it. After several months of renovations, my new "home" was ready and I moved in on September 25, 2014.  

It has been a year now and, although I'm still making some adjustments to this new lifestyle, I can honestly say I’m very happy with my apartment and the new friends I've made here. Not surprisingly, I'm one of the youngest residents (I turned 75 this past July), but most of the people I've met are  certainly young at heart, and in spirit, and continue to be actively involved in life. I am still participating in all the same activities that I’ve always had (I just have to drive a little farther for some of them) and I see my former neighbors and friends on a regular basis. Living here at Cypress Cove (www.cypresscoveliving.org) is about as close to living in a resort hotel as one can get, and I am truly grateful that I was financially able to make this decision. Not everyone has this option.

…so my next act has begun, and there will be many more stories to tell.