From the Centre to the Margins (Life in an Upscale Retirement Home)

By Shevlin Sebastian

“She’s only 60 but she slipped into dementia,” said a woman, as she pointed at a closed door.

“60 is so young,” said the shocked visitor.

“Yes, but she couldn't handle her husband’s sudden death.”

At the upscale retirement home I visited recently, in Kochi, each door represents a life story. Some never expected to be here. Others opted for it. But with monthly rents of five and six figures, they are all well-to-do.

Many had lived abroad and had been successful doctors, engineers, architects, professors, and entrepreneurs. For long they had been in the centre of their universe. But everybody had to succumb to tempus fugit (‘time flies’ in Latin).

From the centre they have been gently pushed to the margins. Because of old age, and mostly, physical frailty. A plaque for long years of service. Handshakes and hugs. Cakes and wine. Loud laughter. And then silence. Which stretches into decades.

You can see some being pushed on wheelchairs. Others lean on walking sticks. An attender held the hand of a stiff-backed person taking tentative steps.

One couple is from California. “I wouldn’t say my husband is happy, but it’s better than being there. We had nobody to talk to. The problem in America is isolation.”

To combat loneliness, numerous activities are planned during the day. Card games. Knitting. Yoga. Music. Brain Gym. Physical gym. Swimming pool. Men and women gather. They talk with each other. They smile. But there are a few who remain isolated.

Deaths create havoc steadily. The husband might die; the wife now lives alone. Or the wife might die. “It’s very difficult for a man to live alone,” said a resident.

And when visitors visit the seriously elderly, in their nineties, the question is the same: do you know who I am?

The bedridden man or woman will stare at the visitor.

Sometimes, he blurts out the right name. There is wonder all around. How great was that?

One woman said, “My husband cannot tolerate any medicines.”

“You can put it in the food,” said a resident.

“I tried, but the moment he senses a change in the taste he spits the food out.”

People are left wondering about a possible solution.

I move around.

Another woman said, “Before I left for the US, I was docile and submissive. But when I went there, I was able to develop my talents. I became confident and outgoing. My husband just could not accept the new me.”

These are people of an older generation. Divorce was not an option. So, they chugged on. It probably makes sense.

One resident said, “When we are young, we feel we can live without our spouse. Divorce seems easy then. But at this stage, we cling to each other. There is nobody else.”

Another woman said, “Mothers today should teach their sons to cook, clean, and respect boundaries. Otherwise, there will be too many divorces. Young women are so evolved now.”

The women easily exchange notes about their life with each other. They get mental and psychological relief. But the men remain silent.

One resident worries about her daughter who is going to give birth in a few weeks. “Oh, how I wish I could be there. But I cannot leave my husband alone.” She said she had asked her daughter-in-law whether she could be there for a few days after the birth. But she has got a promotion and is finding it difficult to get leave.

Another woman remarked, “I saw her photo on Instagram. She’s got a big stomach.”

“Yes,” the mother said, with a glowing smile.

One resident said, “I take part in a group prayer on Zoom. Once a week, I have to give a commentary. I prepare but the speech I give is an inspired one. A spirit enters me and I speak. It’s magical.”

Her eyes are suffused with wonder.

The listener thinks, “This could be divine energy, or the unconscious mind.”

Several live in the past – dwelling on achievements, career highs, their busyness. In all this, the children are missing. Many are abroad, busy building careers the way their parents did. They have children, a mortgage, and career ambitions. The arc will remain the same. One day, they will also reach the retirement home and their children will carry on the cycle of life.

It’s an immaculate place. The floors are swept often. The washrooms are scented. The lawns are mowed. The tiled pathways have been cleared of falling leaves. There are large trees all around. The sky is blue. The leaves rustle in an afternoon breeze. The food is tasty. The staff move with a smile on their faces.

But most residents have a look in their eyes which states, “Too many years have passed. We are closer to the exit.”

For younger visitors, it’s an unsettling preview of what lies ahead. But to live like this, it may be better to have a chest full of currency. Preferably dollars or euros. Otherwise, it’s going to be an agonising time.