I turned 70 this year. That number still surprises me sometimes, but here I am. I live in an aging care facility in New Jersey, where I am well fed, looked after, and cared for. Although I like to look after myself and my needs, my children wanted me to be here, so I could feel safe and pampered. And for the most part, I am.
Every morning is the same. I sleep by the bed close to the window and so wake up with the morning sunrise and the soft humming of my caregiver as she comes in with my morning medicine. At this age, I move a little slower now. Though I still want to do things on my own, I find myself depending on her more often than I want to admit. Getting aging care support has been good, and the people here are kind. But I still find myself worrying.
For nearly two years, my days have blended into a routine of monotony – wake up, medicine, meals, quiet time, more medicine, then bed. It is steady, but it all feels the same. Life shrinks when it’s only measured in pills and appointments.
But when my caregiver comes in, my day feels brighter and I, charged with energy. We have a little pact, playful and small, but it fills me with joy. Every morning after stretches, we tell each other a funny memory, one from her childhood or mine. I love how she listens and laughs with me. It makes me feel connected, alive, and a little like a child again.
Lately, though, she has been looking after more people like me. Even on days when she does have a few extra minutes, those moments often disappear into piles of papers and scheduling calls. I see her exhaustion, and I worry. I wish there were a way to help her keep track of everything, so she could spend more time with me and the others who need her. Sometimes my medication instructions change, and they don’t reach her in time. I understand that she is caring for so many people that she barely has time to breathe, let alone share a laugh with me.
And this is where I feel the gap. As an elderly woman, I don’t just need food on the table and pills on time, although I’m grateful for both. I need more human connection, more human presence. I need moments where someone holds my hand without rushing, where my stretches are a shared laugh instead of a task I do by myself.
I’ve heard the staff talk about “software for aging care support.” I don’t know much about computers, but from what they were talking about it seemed like it could help her. It seemed like it might even help me by reminding her about my appointments, keeping my medicines on schedule, and letting her have those few extra moments to laugh with me!
Sounded like that time when my son showed me how to make a video call on my smartphone, and I was instantly able to see his face and hear his laugh, even though he was miles away. I’ve come to realize that life is about those conversations, those shared moments, and the little joys that make a day worth living. And with the supportive environment, there will always be space for connection and time for being heard and seen as you are.