Today’s senior citizens are the luckiest in history. They’re also the loneliest.
(iStock/adamkaz)The truth is undeniable. America’s current senior citizens are indeed lucky—or fortunate, whatever term is more appropriate. Most of us in that category remind ourselves constantly of that fact and find comfort in it. And if we ever forget, others will do the reminding for us (often our far-flung family members, in their phone calls and emails, and sometimes media professionals reporting on the supposed benefits of senior living).
Ours is the first generation in which the middle class (and most baby boomers consider themselves middle-class) is indulged with luxury senior residences, most of them quite similar. They have many conveniences and are maintained in superb condition. They also provide for efficient living despite their minuscule size, reminiscent of once treasured dollhouses. Many of us also admit, with sincere gratitude, that our comfortable finances are primarily due to pensions and Social Security benefits earned by our deceased spouses. We are also aware that we are most likely the last generation in which so many of us have this monetary protection.
And though the quality of our health care varies, and we are still dependent on God’s will, it is also undeniable that most seniors are still living because of recent advancements in modern medicine.
So we are indeed the luckiest generation of elders to date.
Still, I dare to wonder. Was it wise not to let nature take its course? Perhaps the old saying “Don’t mess with Mother Nature” (or, as in the old margarine commercial, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature”) was a warning.
Many of us in the current generation of senior citizens also must cope with our family members’ living far away. According to a study from 2019, about one-quarter of Americans live more than 30 miles from their nearest parent or adult child, but that share is higher for college-educated individuals, who often move away from their hometowns to pursue their careers. Migration has always existed to some extent, but until recently, when families migrated, they often included adult children, grandparents, cousins, nieces or nephews. The current ease of transportation and communications has actually resulted in limited, non-physical connections for a significant portion of society.
It has also destroyed much of family life. Family elders may end up removed from close contact or routine communication with younger members of their clan. Many senior citizens now are sequestered in a new Elba (those luxury senior residences) and are well cared for, but by strangers. In some assisted-living facilities for seniors, the majority of residents are frail, disabled or lack memory. Those who still maintain some degree of both mental and physical mobility often watch from the sidelines in silence or in quiet fearful anticipation of their impending future.
It is a dismal horizon, despite the carpets and the soft music playing in the dining areas. The lack of the vital ingredient of youth is a significant sorrow. The chorus we hear chanted daily is not one of laughter or love, but rather vivid descriptions of falls and medical problems. It can be an easy choice to turn off any interaction and seek seclusion. That soon becomes another contributor to loneliness.
Ours may be the first generation to be dependent on, using the famed words of Tennessee Williams, “the kindness of strangers.” Our strangers include the students who serve meals, the capable middle-aged male and female employees titled concierge, and an admittedly efficient wellness staff who appear at the first alert or distress or cry for assistance. As kind and caring as they are, they cannot erase the yearning for family no longer available to share the minutiae of daily life.
Our generation is indeed lucky, even blessed. But the postwar generation may be remembered not only because we served society well, but also for demonstrating that there is a price to be paid for longevity in the current American culture. It is called loneliness.
Still, I doubt that future generations will have to learn the same lesson about loneliness, or that the luxury senior residences now flooding our country will be filled forever. Long after we are gone, artificial intelligence will surely determine a more cost-effective method of dealing with old age.
I rather doubt that this method will be termed luxurious. But that will not be my problem.
Anne Donlon Achenbach has been a contributor to The New York Times, Long Island Newsday and The Critic. She has published 10 books, including “An Angel Wept” and “A Trail of Love and Breadcrumbs.” She has also published fiction under the name of Mary Sean Quinn.
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