A retirement home can be a permanent party or a pretty prison

If you can afford it, you don't have to live alone

At a certain age, if you have managed to acquire a full-sized home for the prime of your life, you start to wonder whether you should move somewhere smaller, with less upkeep, closer to help if you need it.

You wonder whether it's time to downsize your home and your life in preparation for the limitations and eventual end of old age.

Or maybe you have had a scare—a fall, a mini-stroke, a worrisome biopsy, or trouble remembering things, and you’re thinking it’s time to go somewhere safer and easier before it really hits the fan. But where?

A while back, I wrote about my neighbor, Shirley, who sold her house in South Beach, Oregon and arranged to move into a nursing home 70 miles inland. She didn’t want to go, she said, but she needed to. In her 80s, she was having serious health problems and needed care.

That post is still getting a huge response. Clearly, we are worried about this happening to us. I know I am.

Over time, we will look at a variety of options, but I just came from a place in Tucson, AZ that makes retirement feel like a party.

Imagine a senior complex that feels like a combination luxury hotel and cruise ship. It has multiple restaurants, plentiful entertainment, a beauty salon, gym, pool, game room, medical clinic, and transportation for shopping, medical appointments, and local events. The units feel like luxury apartments.

While attending the Tucson Festival of Books master workshop (intense!) I stayed with my cousin Adrienne at The Hacienda at the Canyon. (Thank you, Adrienne, for incredible hospitality and great hugs.)

After her husband died, Adrienne sold her house and moved there. Her daughter is very helpful but lives in Denver. This seemed like the best move.

She loves it. Her two-bedroom, two-bath apartment overlooks the saguaro-studded Catalina Foothills, and she has made lots of friends among the interesting and active residents. As a bonus, she’s still close to her old neighborhood, so she has kept her old friends and activities.

The photo shows my view from the balcony while writing. Beats Starbuck’s, right?

If a body could retire to this life, who would say no? Did I mention the grand piano, swimming pool, gym, landscaped courtyard, and convent next door?

All retirement homes, senior residences or whatever you want to call them, are not like this. I have been in places where the units are no bigger than the hotel room in Albuquerque where I’m writing this, and they aren’t nearly as nice as Adrienne’s place. Some residents are active while others sit alone in their rooms and weep over the homes they left.

Senior housing is a huge and growing business, but not everyone can afford it. Think $2,000 a month minimum (without meals) for something relatively simple to $5,000 or more for a place like the Hacienda.

Me, I have an aversion to living where you have to get into an elevator every time you want to go outside, where you have no land to call your own, and where visitors have to sign in and wear a badge. It feels like a pretty prison. I understand the safety and security of it, and I would love to have everything within walking distance, but I’d rather stay at my house and talk to the elk.

I’ve been thinking more along the lines of a mobile home park like the one where my husband and I lived early in our marriage. It was a nice one with a guard at the gate, a pool, gym, and clubhouse, and peacocks visiting from the hills above us. We had privacy in the midst of community. We only left because it was turned into a 50-plus park, and we weren’t old enough.

My dad’s cousin Irene lived in a similar place until her death at 96. If you think mobile homes are cheesy, look again. Some are nicer than a lot of houses.

My aunt Edna, who lived to 100, spent her later years in a senior tower above the Santana Row shopping center in San Jose. Pretty swanky but not my cup of tea. Plus, you can’t have a big dog in most of these places. Even if you can, a dog needs to get outside and play.

But if you reach a point where you can’t drive, can’t keep up your house, and you’re afraid to be alone . . .

Again, not everyone can afford this. Maybe if you have a house to sell, you sell it and hope the money you earn does not run out before you die or need a higher level of care.

In my travels through the Southwest, I keep seeing Mexican families taking care of their widowed “abuelas” (grandmothers). Daughters and granddaughters accompany Abuela to the restroom and help with everything from toileting to washing her hands. She probably lives with her kids. It’s what all families did back in the old days when the generations lived together and cared for each other. Grandma helped with the grandchildren when they were young, and in turn they helped her in her old age. That seems kinder than helping Grandma find a retirement home.

But erase all those kids and grandkids from the picture. What if this childless elderwoman is making her way through life alone, even if she has trouble walking or seeing or understanding the technology? Ah, that brings us back to deciding whether it’s time to downsize.

The whole situation changes when the older person, or even a younger person, needs medical care. Assisted living and nursing homes are another huge topic (and nobody wants to go there), but let’s stick to independent living in a retirement home for now.

If you had the opportunity, would you like to live in a nice senior community? Could you afford it? When would it be time to make the move? How would you decide? Do you fear you would regret it?

If you have knowledge or experience about this, please share in the comments.

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I’m in Albuquerque today, Santa Fe tomorrow night, and then on to Los Angeles. This is the 10th day of my 22-day journey. Has it been easy? I have had my ups and downs. Yesterday at Denny’s in Deming, I reached into my purse for my wallet, and it wasn’t there. I had changed bags and somehow the wallet didn’t get transferred.

Panic! What if I were stranded in the New Mexico desert with no money or credit cards to pay for food, lodging or gas? What would I do?

I found it in the car, but your mind goes all kinds of places when you’re on your own. Is going alone riskier than traveling with someone else? It definitely is. But we can do it.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. The Kindle price has just been reduced! Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.