In 2014, my husband of forty-six years died; in 2019 I had one terrible fall and then in 2022 I had another, breaking my back. After that, I left my longtime home in Manhattan to move into an assisted living facility in Bethesda, Maryland, in August 2022, when I was eighty-three. At the time, I knew all the stereotypes about assisted living: a place where people sit in rocking chairs, staring blankly into space. But the reality I found here was very different. In my assisted-living facility, I’ve made friends, built community, and learned so much from the other residents and staff. I knew I’d tolerate living here, but I quickly grew to love it.
My experience has taught me that aging is more complicated than people who have not yet had the opportunity might think. As I learned sitting in the dining room, overhearing my fellow residents’ conversations and taking notes on my cellphone, elderly people are not all the sweet white-haired old ladies you might believe. Pettiness, cliques, and rivalries are as rampant here as in any high school cafeteria, and people can be jerks. Meanwhile, however, the bonds of friendship and community sustain us, and as was true for me, many old people use the extra free time of retirement to develop creative practices that can keep them going even when things are difficult.
We are living in the undeniable presence of death. The ambulance visits regularly, and then everyone gossips in the dining room about who went, how they went, and who might be next. This constant reminder can be inspiring, terrifying, and sometimes mundane. After all, everyone, regardless of age, lives in the presence of death—old people are just more honest about it.