My mother succinctly declared one day when
I was a teen that she found it difficult to fathom
why an adult child would declare a family elder as
incapable of living alone after a spouse passes.
A church friend who had reared her children
and run a household was told by her male
offspring that it was time for her to sell her
home and move into his house with his family.
Horrified at the idea that a son would tell
his mother she was no longer capable of
living independently, my mother added:
what is so wrong about dying in my own home?
I could think of no reason. As I mull over her question,
I too find it hard to comprehend having to move in
with adult children and their families. Yes, I love them
dearly and enough to let go and let them live their own lives.
Unless incapacitated or declared incompetent, I see
no particular reason to move in with family.
I laud those who downsize and move to a sunny
state and live in senior living or on their own.
Where is it written that we become unfit and
incapable of living on our own because of the
death of a loved one? While I realize each circumstance
is different, I relish my independence.
We have a lifetime of friends in our lives who stay
in contact and know what is going on. As a creative
artist, I value my own private spaces to meditate and
to create. I would not want to relinquish those
private moments to reflect, write, make music, read, travel
and the other myriad of activities I enjoy. Years later,
I have the answer to my mother’s question: there is
nothing wrong with living alone and dying in my own home.