At the other end of our lives we grow old fast, even without the unwelcome invasion of some acute, life-threatening illness. Between our 60s and our 70s, the aches and pains of aging begin to show up, AFib is often diagnosed, and digestive challenges make their ugly appearance. Between 70 and 80, things that really make aging difficult—mobility and balance issues, arthritis, hearing and vision loss, and the like—begin their lasting impacts on what we can do and how we live. After 80, all that and more speed up and get worse. If we make it to 90, our chances of being alive, or even viable, at the end of the coming decade are practically nil.
As a clergy person, I’ve long been aware of the acceleration of aging after about 70. But during our three and a half years at Breckenridge Village I have felt that speeding up in my gut and have had to face my nearly total inability to control it, either in myself or in others.
Living in a retirement community like this one forces me to be aware constantly of how quickly aging takes its toll. Several people who were active and involved when we moved in have slowed down considerably, or are practically incapacitated, or have died. We are forced to watch a constant parade of personal change and diminishment that is quite different from what we experienced living “out in the world.”
For example, our next door neighbors in the Orange Village home we sold to come here were probably in their thirties when they moved in next to us, and are probably in their late 50s/early 60s now. They have gotten older of course, and their children are all grown up, but they are still working and active and seem quite able to do pretty much whatever they want. It is we, maybe a half-generation older, for whom the tolling bell seems to be ringing faster and louder with each passing year.
Another driver of our rapidly-increasing sense of aging may not be apparent to people who consider moving to facilities such as this one. We certainly did not see it coming. It is that in paying a significant entrance fee and a monthly charge so we do not have to worry about most of our housing and environmental needs, we gave up our say over how those needs are met. That heightens our sense of being old.
Yes, Breckenridge Village cares for our lawn, trims our bushes, and plows our snow. But unless and until we find and pay for someone else to do those things the way we want them done, we have relinquished much say in how and when they are done. Breckenridge will fix (or replace) our appliances and do other maintenance work at no extra cost to us, but it will decide when and how to do those things, sometimes without any advance notice to us.
Almost immediately when we moved into what’s called “independent living,” we found ourselves dependent upon people who are working for and ultimately accountable to someone else, not to mention watching a “bottom line” we cannot easily access. The experience has been disorienting, even though we freely accepted it and paid for it.
Make no mistake: we are glad we are here. We have made many good friends, we participate in a number of campus-sponsored activities, and we love our home. The health care, wellness, and therapy personnel are outstanding. Their goal is that we remain as physically independent as we can for as long as possible. But that goal sometimes feels in tension with a dependency encouraged—knowingly or unknowingly—by company people and corporate practices.
Those are external factors pushing us to grow old fast. Then there are our own health problems.
Neither Maxine nor I can do as much as we did at the beginning of 2020. In the early days of the pandemic we could walk the entire loop of the campus, from Ridge Road to Euclid and back, without assistance. Now we both use canes or walking sticks, and our range is considerably limited. I passionately (and to some, I suppose, foolishly) continue to ride a bike, doggedly proving something to myself if to no one else. I try not to think or look or dress more “elderly” than I must. It’s all vanity on my part, but it’s just me. I know that one day my years will all catch up to me, that I cannot forever outride time and aging. But I can try.
The years between 70 and our demise march on in fearsome procession, offering a new old person on every birthday, each of which approaches just way too fast.
