Hi Reader,
"Lucy is my friend and she will never leave me."
I asked this elderly friend of mine to write this down on a piece of paper today when I visited her. Her memory is a bit up and down.
She was worried that now she has more company in the care home, I might stop visiting. As if there’s only space for one kind of connection, one kind of friendship.
A bit of context: she lived alone in her house for decades before moving into residential care, and I happen to be the only friend she sees regularly. Her house was a place she cherished, but over time it became harder to manage:
- the space still needed a lot of work to be done
- the layout of the house was no longer suiting her needs
- due to low mobility, she became housebound
- and, just like that, her world became smaller and more isolated
From the outside, this could look like a loss of independence. I don't see it this way.
Now she finally lives in a "minimal home", something she used to say she wanted when we first met over two years ago.
She has a view from her bed of trees and wildlife she watches every day. She says it never gets boring.
Her meals are warm, homemade, and healthy.
There are people around her throughout the day: conversation, laughter, stories over a cup of coffee.
She has company. Real company. And real care too!
When she was living alone, I could see her health and mood changing. Little by little. Isolation really took its toll. So did not having the everyday basics of human connection, even though she had carers visiting her multiple times a day.
I tried to help where I could, but there’s only so much one person can do.
And isn't it interesting how life seems to take care of itself?
Sometimes what feels like a step backwards ends up giving someone something they were actually missing.
She didn’t choose to move into care, and yet this was one of the best things that happened to her.
Her life is simpler now. Not smaller, but more supported.
Now she can look outside her window and not worry about all the stuff that was in the way.
Now she can eat a meal and not worry about potentially getting hurt while cooking it.
Now she can walk around this beautiful home and see welcoming, friendly faces.
Now she can talk, laugh, play and listen to other people's stories over a cup of coffee.
And she is not alone in it.
So when life shifts (for you or someone you love) I think about this:
We don’t see the full picture while we’re inside it.
I hope that you and your loved ones are able to see the positives whatever the situation.
Because they will always be there, you just have to notice them.
With positivity (and a few new friends in their 80's and 90's),
Lucy
