Apart from the numerous resident-sponsored activities, some socially-minded residents try to break the ice by holding small-group dinner parties and social gatherings, but this takes energy and a willingness to mingle with strangers. Beyond ‘how are you, what floor are you on, and how long have you been here?’ many have not much else to say before retreating to their cozy suites. It’s as if they are frightened to give friendship a chance, perhaps because it would be short-lived. Here, on average, one resident dies each week. Loneliness sometimes walks the corridors.
For weeks I likened my new living accommodation to what I came to facetiously call the Last Stop Hotel where I was destined to stay for life. I had the freedom to come and go as I wished, to participate in its numerous activities, or opt out. Life seemed strangely artificial, where residents shuffled through their days, often alone, as if in their very own Twilight Zone. Each night before nodding off, I searched for an escape hatch, but none seemed viable. There was no escape.
The numerous services available at my fingertips while living in a modern, comfortable apartment definitely eased my pain and made me aware that I had indeed chosen an ideal place to spend my last years. Without ever leaving the building I could see a doctor, nurse, hearing aid specialist, attend daily fitness classes, go to the movies, musical presentations, participate in hobby activities, and opt for the high-quality dining services available seven days a week. How could I possibly be so ill at ease?
But I missed my old life, where I lived in the little town of Dundas, population 24,000, with most essential services available within 10 minutes of my house, and where within 5 minutes by car I could climb the Niagara Escarpment and be in extensive farmland with miles and miles of farms, scenic country roads, and quiet hiking trails, and moved to Toronto, population 2 1/2 million. Even after losing my partner and my dog, my little town and my house, I should have kept my car because I still loved driving. It would have helped me retain my independence and given me the opportunity to explore my new neighbourhood without resorting to public transportation.
My heart told me otherwise, but my brain told me it was indeed time to let that all go. But if one were to choose a retirement residence that comes close to the ideal establishment to live out one’s old age, then, except for my zero fondness for Toronto, I have chosen the right place.
Out of sheer desperation to feel useful I tried to think of something to do, rather than simply participating in activities to keep busy, and kill time. I launched an upbeat newsletter involving the residents who live in this huge retirement complex. It became popular because it fulfilled a need of elders to be recognized, and to feel connected to each other. It also gave me a purpose for my life.
What is there left for an 88-year-old to wish for now that he gave up a lifestyle that suited him so well? Thus far I survived one revolution around the sun while living in a strange new environment. No, it is not Camelot, but it is time to stop moaning about the past that is no more, and begin embracing the future.
