Mature Life Features

Cecil Scaglione, Editor

Be it Ever so Jumbled — er, Humble

with one comment

We’re still asked – at least a couple of times a day – why we moved to Aridzona.

And have to explain away that look of askance when the questioners learn we’ve moved here from San Diego.

This move from paradisiacal Pacific Beach cooled by a breeze that’s kissed some 7,000 miles of ocean to the middle of Aridzona was seeded years ago when Bev began a campaign to move close to daughter and grandkids.

I saw no reason to leave the Golden State and the best climate in the galaxy until …

While delivering Meals on Wheels for more than nine years (woulda got my 10-year pin this summer), I watched a couple of dozen people struggle mightily to age in their homes. They were engaging and smiling when I first knocked on their door. Gradually, they would take a bit longer to answer, the house became darker and, soon after, strangers (caregivers — usually in hospital scrubs) would take the meal from me and the man of the house, or the woman, or both might wave from a chair as they oozed too quickly into a drooling sleeping lump. Instead of being cared for in a bright, active aging-assistance community by strangers, they were being cared for in their rotting residence by a series of strangers.

I didn’t want that to happen to me.

Memories and mental images also were recalled of trauma experienced by mentaly slipping family members when they were uprooted from their homes and transported to – “tossed into” is a more accurate description – senior “facilities.”

I didn’t want that to happen to me.

Late last year, Bev had spinal surgery to alleviate (and hopefully repair) nerve damage in her right arm and hand. While she was in hospital, I realized I probably cannot live alone for any length of time. When she came home and I had to minister to her after surgery. I also realized I couldn’t maintain that level of care if she needed it for any length of time.

So the decision was made to make a move. If we were going to move into what now is called an “independent living” community, we might as well look at moving in Bev’s direction – to Aridzona.

During our Christmas visit to the Grand Canyon State with the grandkids last year, I asked everyone – almost stopped people on the street — what they liked and didn’t like about the place. Without hesitation, they all pointed out that there are four months of hell – The Summer Heat. The rest of the year is great.

We knew from visiting that everything here is cheaper than in California — gasoline, health insurance, auto insurance, groceries, taxes, housing, everything.

One day in the shower, I looked down at one of my hands. It was the hand of an old man. I also realized that, should Bev fall, I could no longer pick her up. And, if I fell, she sure as heck couldn’t pick me up.

Friends and family concerned that we “weren’t ready” for an old-farts’ facility urged us to buy a condo before hurling ourselves pell mell into a senior citizens’ complex. That didn’t solve our picking-each-other-up dilemma. If we moved into a condo, we’d still have face a move into a senior citizens’ community. And when would we be “ready.”

We came to realize that folks move into such facilities either too early or too late. In our case, it was too early. BUT, we made our own decision..

And it was time.

–30–

 

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Written by Cecil Scaglione

June 3, 2017 at 9:09 pm

One Response

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  1. Cecil,

    Thanks for the informative explanation WHY YOU MOVED TO ARIZONA.

    Gerry will be 80 on his next birthday and he is starting to feel his age when he gets around a lot slower now.

    My medical challenges keep me grounded when I sometimes feel like flying.

    I continue to look forward to my windows of wellness.

    Since I still am able to do my wifely chores, our life is holding on status quo!

    I guess life will tell us when we will need to be kindly cared for by professionals.

    May you and Bev enjoy life to the fullest!

    Happy summer

    Sandy

    Sandy

    June 6, 2017 at 2:08 pm


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