Aging in Place

As defined by our government, it’s being able to live in your own home “safely, independently, and comfortably, regardless of age, income, or ability level.” Amen to that, and, in theory, no one’s left behind, but only if you have the means and get to it early enough. And how early might that be? For sure, do your Swedish “death cleaning” well before death. Whenever death’s scheduled to occur.

Retrofit: walk-in bathtubs, ramps, stair-lifts, home elevators. Better lighting. Be virtuous: declutter (clutter: think clots / clatter / cluster). At seventy-seven, singer Joan Baez was proud to say she had only three shirts in her closet. Admirable, but perhaps not a complete inventory of her possessions. (Declutter your mind, they might also advise.)

Meanwhile, in the richest country on the planet the old are afraid of going broke. Simon Critchley says people “ultimately don’t trust their children or their loved ones to care for them. Fear of death is a fear of feebleness in an infirm state, stuck in a degrading nursing home, ignored by embarrassed friends and busy, distant family members.”

“Scared shitless”? “Get out while the gettin’s good”? Or reconsider “aging in place.”

“We age in installments,” as a character in Sándor Márai’s Embers puts it. Or think of it this way: you’re aging each and every moment. As you have been since birth. Sitting down, standing still, partying, meditating, alone or together— aging / aging no matter what. And living as if you’ll be yourself in the morning.

Consider the subjunctive verb mood in Spanish. Realm, my friend Pedro explains, of “the uncertain, conjecture, desire, where we often find ourselves these days.”

Living as if. Clive James wrote that the life “that cast you, when this all began, / As a small boy, still needs a dying man.” Until then, obey the military drill command: “As you were.”