Two generations ago, elders in our society, for better or worse, lived out their lives within their families, partly because they had no other choice. Gradually the idea of herding old people together under one big roof, often advertised as a “mini-Paradise”, where all their needs could be met, was born. It has slowly caught on as more and more of our Canadian seniors surprised the world by living longer (11 more years from 1970-2024) but they became wobbly with age. They worried most about managing independently. Where should they go? Modern families have largely abandoned the idea of integrating elderly relatives with their family units.
An Elders’ Paradise, where seniors can live without burdening busy family members, and where they can enjoy a care-free life, is a frequently-advertised alternative. More than one-quarter of the 861,000 people aged 85 and older live in a collective dwelling such as a nursing home, long-term care, or seniors; residence, (2021 Census). The average age of Canadians who opt for a retirement residence is 85.
Last year, at 87, I reluctantly decided it was time for me to look for my version of Camelot for my old age. Thanks to my daughter’s careful research, I opted for a highly respected Toronto retirement residence even though I had always maintained that housing old people together in one building is a very bad idea. After 12 months of experiencing the real thing, I am still unsure.
My decision to make a change is a familiar one to those who reach my age. Most of my friends had died, became debilitated, or had moved elsewhere. My wife had died, and a new partner died 5 years ago, as did my beloved dog. Loneliness became my constant companion. With a swiftness that surprised me, I downsized, sold my house, got rid of my car, and moved with my two cats into a sleek, renovated apartment in a well-run retirement residence far from my small town, but close to family members.
What followed saddened and disappointed my family who had believed I would instantly thrive in this retirees’ residence. Although surrounded by many people, superb administrators and staff, loneliness and low-key depression followed me daily. I began to feel like a beaver caught in a trap. Frustrated and alone, I could not shake the conviction that I had made a serious, irreversible blunder because I could not come to grips with the sea of greyheads, wrinkled faces, stooped bodies, walkers, canes, and wheelchairs. I peered out my door each morning, but saw only an empty, endless corridor, one of ten stacked atop each other, and lined with sturdy doors, behind which were oldies, just like me. It was eerily quiet, all the time. Except for staff, there was never a young person anywhere.
The residents are friendly, but on a superficial level. Acquaintances are plentiful, but close friendships, at least for me, are few, even though I am a fairly gregarious, outgoing individual. Instead of a sense of joie de vivre permeating the place I sensed a quiet serenity throughout the complex. What did I expect? 90-year-olds jitterbugging in the hallway, wild drinking parties in nearby apartments, and torrid love affairs on the public patio?
