Retirement — It’s Not What I Thought It Was…
My mother is in her mid-nineties now. An inspiration to many of us, to be sure. She has just recently–in the last few months–made the transition from living in her own home to moving into a retirement residence.
It’s been a long progression overall…after my dad passed away almost 25 years ago, mom remained in their house–on her own–for about another 15 years.
After deciding that worrying about furnace maintenance and eavestrough cleaning were no longer her thing, mom sold the house and purchased a condominium unit. It was perfectly suited to her–in a single floor building reminiscent of a large ranch-style house, she had a walkout to her garden. Here her bird feeder not only drew in cardinals and sparrows but also attracted ducks from the nearby river. Believe it or not, if there was no fallen bird seed at the base of the feeder, there would be an odd-sounding tapping at her sliding glass door. Looking out, you would find a mallard duck looking in, expectantly. Yes, it startled me the first time it happened when I was visiting.
Also out in the yard beyond her garden, my mom was happy to watch the local groundhog busily doing whatever it is they do. Occasionally it would freeze in place, perhaps catching the sound or scent of something. Whenever my beagle Missi visited with me, she would catch a whiff of the groundhog with that nose of hers and it would be a very exciting walk around the yard, trying to track it down. Always in vain.
In her condo my mom continued with her lifelong routines…in the summertime pickling jars of beets (my personal favourite), cooking down apples into jars of applesauce in the Fall, using up the last of bits of cereal in the box to make a tray of cornflake cookies, baking up a batch of bran muffins every week year round (we all know what they were for). My mom hadn’t worked outside of the home since she was a teenager, employed at the soda fountain in a drugstore, but in her home she never stopped.
Ten years went by, watching industrious groundhogs and finicky ducks. Her great-grandchildren all first met her here, learning in which cupboard my mom kept a bag of paper, colouring books, and crayons, played and picnicked on the lawn outside her sliding glass door, and liked to hear stories about the picture on her cabinet of a man we called ‘papa’ whom they would never meet.
Ten years in, my mom decided she was–finally–tired of cooking. Tired of deciding what to make and then making it. Too often she was saying, “Oh, I just made myself a sandwich for dinner.” Meals on Wheels and similar community options were suggested and tried for awhile. Dinner was solved but she was equally bored with the thought of breakfast and lunch. Now in her 90’s, the current state was no longer sustainable. Conversations about the sale of the condo and moving into a ‘residence’ ensued.
Which brings us here, a ‘retirement residence’ just a few minutes from her condo. I’m impressed with it (I am not naive however–for the cost, it should be impressive). It is well appointed and maintained with a friendly and genuinely caring staff. It’s a beautiful place, and not just in the ‘public’ areas. The food is nutritious, attractive and well-prepared.
It’s been another transition for my mom. Probably one of the most difficult, not counting that from wife to widow. An independent person, she finds it disconcerting to have people wanting to help her do everything. One of the staff told me, with a chuckle, she couldn’t figure out why my mom seemed to be getting up earlier and earlier every morning. She finally asked my mom why. Turns out mom just wants to dress herself with no-one fussing around and didn’t have the heart to say “no thank you” when staff would start to help her. Instead, mom solved her dilemma by being up and dressed when the staff came in. When I was a kid she used to call me stubborn–still does–and I know where it comes from.
Another change for my mom is going to the dining room for every meal. With this change, she announced to me one day that she actually, truly, feels ‘retired’. As much as she wanted to try to find some fault with it, she is enjoying the food, along with the camaraderie of her tablemates. So, in what my mom views as a perk of her retirement, she has ice cream twice a day (after lunch and dinner) every day. Whenever her great-grandchildren visit her now, my mom is revered as the luckiest person they know.
The transition continues. The other day when I arrived for a visit, I didn’t find mom in her suite (I rarely do) but, happening to glance down a hall, I saw a group of about a dozen residents–including mom–gathered around an older gentleman enthusiastically playing a piano. When she saw me, mom went to leave but I waved her back, sat down beside her, and joined the group enjoying their familiar sounds of “Home on the Range”, “Tipperary”, “Chattanooga Choo Choo” and more. For the next hour, I hummed and sometimes sang along with the rest of them.
The good days will continue, with the cranky ones growing fewer. The other day when she phoned me she was happy to report having seen a robin in the tree outside her window. Although she tries to keep current, global warming has escaped her and I haven’t the heart to tell her many robins remain all year now. She is happier in the thought of Spring and new beginnings.
Turns out…retirement is really about the ice cream…
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