That’s right, folks, I am 65. I am ensconced in a new phase. I don’t even know what to call it—semi-retired caretaker? Nomadic gig worker? I have been in Tucson over two years now, and I still consider it temporary. I work when I can, or when the opportunity presents itself. I guess I would be classified as an adult child taking care of a parent, but I’m not, not really. I’m a daughter who manages everything around my dad so he can age in place. There’s a HUGE difference; I am not tending to his daily needs like bathing or dressing, nor do I have to drive him everywhere (yet!). It is true that he does less and less around the house. At this point he takes out the garbage once a week and gets the mail every day.
I\’m not doing anything extra that I wouldn’t be doing if I were living in my own house: I cook, clean, take care of the house, hike, swim, write, and sometimes work. It is certainly not him. He is extraordinarily easy to live with. He rarely complains about anything, leaves me alone (except when he needs me), and wants me to be happy.
So…what does that mean for me? My situation is entirely voluntary. Dad and I agreed that a) he doesn’t want to move into assisted living. Ever., b) I would stay for as long as I need to stay, and c) when and if he needs more care, we’ll get in-home care. This all sounds great in theory, but the reality is somewhat different. It’s a gradual slide into more and more responsibilities, as he gets comfortable with me doing more and more. Finding work from home positions that have the flexibility that I need has proven far more difficult than I anticipated. I don’t like it here.
When I say I don’t like it here, I mean I really hate it. Dad lives in the far eastern exurbs of Tucson. the walk score here is zero. There are literally no services of any kind closer than a fifteen minute drive. The community is insular and smug. The plus side is that I have learned so much about what kind of community I would prefer. Something suburban or urban, for sure, with a healthy walk score. I do not like 55+ communities; it’s like junior high all over again. Cliques, factions, feuds, and a sense of entitlement abound here. There are a great many chiefs, and very few Indians. There are committees for everything. I do not like HOAs. I don’t give a shit if all the houses are the same seven boring colors or the landscaping is uniform. Give me a neighborhood with personality, even if that includes some eccentricities and/or features I don’t care for. Give me kids running around and teens coming and going at all hours. Give me a rec center, library, grocery stores and health clubs nearby.
When I have visited in years past, I didn’t truly notice the shortcomings because I didn’t have to live here. In fact, I thought I liked having a private pool and weight room, and streets without traffic. I do, but not at the expense of all the other things I get by living closer to civilization in a regular neighborhood. People here spend a good deal of time being scared: scared that their health will fail, someone will break in, being scammed, not getting their money’s worth for services…quite frankly, it’s exhausting and not at all how I approach living.
This is a phase, after all. One with a terrible ending, but an ending nonetheless. I struggle daily with my short-sightedness and unwillingness to join the community that exists here. I can’t help but make friends, it’s part of my nature to be friendly with people I see often. However, I haven’t bothered to hide how I feel about it here, and a major problem is inviting people into what I see as dad’s home. Besides, socializing takes a lot of time and energy that I don’t always have. The unwritten rules of socializing here are no less complicated than your average Southern small town in the 1880s. Emails have to be sent with many details about the visit. There is no loosey-goosey “drop by around five” nonsense here. If you say five, they are here at five on the dot. Menus must be vetted. What will be happening during the visit is discussed. I mean, seriously! I’m used to the BYOB come on over and hang mentality, where we don’t really do anything but talk and listen to music (another iffy prospect, half the people can’t hear when the music is on and the other half don’t like what you’re playing).
You may be asking me “why the hell are you doing this?” If you know my dad, you know why. He’s a thoroughly decent human being who has the good fortune of living to a very old age with his health intact and now he needs some help. I’m it. Both of my brothers are dead. I’m not married, and don’t have a big and glorious life that couldn’t do without me for a while. He has always, always, always been there for me, my biggest cheerleader and support. If he knew I struggled, he would want me to return to Denver, even though that would increase the probability of disaster for him exponentially. I can deal with whatever my petty issues are and remain content.
Meanwhile, I’m learning the ropes of Medicare. I haven’t had insurance (by choice) for over ten years. I’ve saved literally thousands of dollars and gotten the treatment I needed for Lyme disease. My weeks have been filled with blood draws and tests. I know that many of you would never go without health insurance, but I found it freeing and far more cost-effective for my needs. However, it’s nice to have Medicare. Only in the US do people look forward to turning 65 so they can get basic health care.
Well, thanks for listening to my rant. I’m thankful for many things this year: my small, loyal family, my health, my friends, and the ability to wake up every day with a smile on my face. I hope everybody’s holiday season makes them happy in their own way.
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