Making the Last Move
May 8, 2000 -- To join or not to join? To stay in my own home or move to a retirement community? That is the question I faced, when, like so many of us oldies, I found myself alone and ailing after my husband died.
Mine was a familiar story. We had retired in Santa Fe to spend our waning years in a spacious adobe house overlooking the Sangre de Cristo mountains. He was healthy, I was frail from a radical mastectomy and bad osteoporosis. It seemed likely I would be the first to go, but fate intervened. He died of a sudden heart attack, and I was left to cope with the remainder of my life.
I had a friend who bought a one-room studio in the city's El Castillo Retirement Residences, a "campus for seniors," the brochures said. I visited her, liked her compatible companions and the fact that she lived in a bower of green by the Santa Fe River, near the cathedral and the downtown plaza. The buildings had a pleasant hacienda flavor.
I decided to follow my friend's lead to avoid becoming a burden on my family. A $1,000 refundable deposit put me on a waiting list for an apartment while my health and bank accounts were examined. Would the house doctor agree that in spite of my problems I was well enough to live independently? Would my pensions and other investments be deemed sufficient to afford the price of admission and the monthly maintenance and dining-room fees? Satisfied that I met the requirements, I was allowed to buy a two-bedroom apartment, which I remodeled a bit before moving in.