As Edwina poured her coffee that morning, she realized she had not left the house for days. She stared at the date on the receipt from her last trip to the store; she bought eggs and milk on Monday, keeping her outgoings low. The clanking of the garbage truck outside her door informed her it was now Friday. The thought startled her. Where had those four days gone?
The phone conversation with her son the past weekend had been fun. They talked about his plans for his career, his new girlfriend and her family, the intolerably hot weather, his three large, rambunctious dogs. It was so nice to hear his voice and catch up on his news. Heavy silence enveloped her at the end of the call; she felt profoundly alone. That was the last time she had spoken more than one or two words to anyone. Seeing the same cashiers at the store, nodding at the same neighbors as they came and went, smiling at the same dogs that went waggingly by had become the sum of her contact with her community. This four-day spell without contact of any kind, however, was a new development.
It had not always been like this. Edwina had been a force socially. She was the one who organized friends to get together for movies or live music events, set up adventures for herself and others at the seaside, the park, interesting restaurants. The end of her marriage hit her hard, quashing her confidence and shrinking her network. It became hard for her to summon the energy to venture out to meet new people and make new friends. Experimenting with dating at sixty left her feeling diminished. Covid brought her and the world even less interaction with others, stifling her dwindling social energy. It did not return in full after the pandemic ended; she became less willing to make the effort to go out, choosing often to continue to stay at home instead.
Edwina was always active and physically energetic, though as she aged, she developed chronic pain. She loved to dance and now could not without a painful aftermath. Her long walks on the beach became an endurance test. She began to say no to invitations that involved sitting for lengthy periods of time, she chose not to go out late in the day as she was weary by that time, not to mention that her deteriorating eyesight made driving in the dark difficult. The invitations dwindled. Decreasing strength and increasing pain gradually whittled away at her activities. Pain interrupted her sleep; she ran out of steam early in the day. She had little energy and did less housework, things were heavy to move around, folding sheets and making the bed was tiring. The house fell into disarray, the yard became overgrown, she stopped inviting people, ashamed of how things looked.
Her smaller social circle was tolerable until her dear and close friend died. Death took her friend and her joy. It was hard to move past her grief: Edwina struggled to find fun in anything. The unspoken understanding, love, and intimacy of tens of years of shared experience and friendship was a shattering loss. How to begin to build another such relationship? She saw only a bleak and dark future. She did not know what to say to people who asked how she was, how could she begin to explain the disorientation or how unmoored she felt?
She put on a brave face. When others said that she was looking so well and happy, nothing felt farther from the truth, the dissonance built. She would refuse suggestions to go out with others, talking was tiring, forcing herself to be ‘up’ was exhausting; it felt dishonest. She found it increasingly hard to get out of bed in the morning. She saw fewer people.
Sporadic phone calls with her son continued every few weeks. During one call Edwina had found herself telling a story that he reminded her she had told before. She was embarrassed. During another, her son asked, “do you remember so and so?” She did not. She felt abashed. It became easier to stay quiet and make noises of agreement or to change the subject. Later she saw something in her closet she had no recollection of buying. On another occasion she was about to buy something online that she had bought already; only at the last minute did she realize she had. Three pieces of jewelry disappeared. She spent days hunting throughout the house for them. She was frantic. Had she ‘put them somewhere safe’? Had someone come in to take them? Why just those three things? How had she not heard the person in the house?
She changed and added locks to the doors, feeling bewildered and afraid. What was real and what was forgotten? If she could not remember things, how could she function? What was she worth to anyone? To society? She felt small.
As if life happening was not already challenging, other things had been failing physically. Along with not being able to sit for long, it was hard for her to hear conversation in noisy places, harder still to find quiet places in the city where she could break bread with someone. Also, Edwina could no longer trust her internal plumbing. She chose only to go on outings that could have frequent stops, or better, just short trips. She decided that long performances, long journeys, long walks were now out of reach. Unhappily, her digestion changed as well, certain foods caused her great discomfort. Her teeth protested when she ate; they were cracked after the grinding she gave them each night. Dental visits were expensive on a fixed income; she postponed going. She chose to restrict her diet accordingly, another limiting choice.
Overall, Edwina could see how this morning arrived. Over time she made a series of decisions which brought her here to this day, alone with her coffee, on the fourth day of isolation, looking at the new locks on her door. She lost her social positioning and confidence at the end of her marriage; she lost her beloved friend; she was losing her physical strength, mobility, and function; her memory was slipping. In the face of each of these life losses, she made plans to adjust and accommodate. Each plan placed more bricks in the walls of isolation around her; with grim inevitability, each one resulted in her incremental withdrawal from society. She sat alone in a loveless fortress of her own making.
But what of her son? When did he decide that calling every few weeks was enough? What of others in her life who may have noticed her increasing retreat? When did they choose not to call out to her to come back? At what point did they decide to allow her to imprison herself in the dispiriting loneliness and isolation of physical and mental frailty? Did they and do we in society have a responsibility to our family, neighbors, and friends to pay better attention?
At Senior Living Specialists we believe we do. Our mission is to help families plan to enable joy and independence for every member of the family. We wish to provide resources for families to weave a loving safety net beneath the assaults of age and infirmity on their loved ones. We encourage them to build a team of trusted relatives, friends, and professionals to help them find solutions. We do this at no charge to our clients. Please call or write to hear more about how we can help you and your family.
Written by Wendy Johnstone-Burt- Senior Living Specialist Placement Advisor
