It occurs to me that only people of a particular vintage are likely to recall a product called “Geritol.” Marketed, in my youth, to senior citizens, Geritol promised to restore vibrant good health and energy to enfeebled, sickly elders. Now in my late 60s, I am one of them: a grey-haired retiree with bone loss, arthritis, stiff hands, and poor vision, although I have not yet resorted to drinking an over-the-counter elixir to restore my lost vitality.
I have found something better, I think, than Geritol. I have moved to a senior retirement community in Wisconsin that overlooks Lake Michigan. Having enthusiastically attended summer camps in northern Wisconsin throughout my childhood and adolescence, I now feel that same sense of exhilaration every day: activities galore, two restaurants, a bar, an excellent gym, an almost-Olympic-sized swimming pool, performance spaces, a screening room, physical fitness trainers, an art studio, a woodworking studio, a billiards room, a ping-pong room, a pickleball court, in-house salon, in-house masseuse, in-house tech support, in-house banking and postal service, in-house doctor visits, and a continuum of care that extends from complete independence, to rehab, to assisted living, to memory care, to hospice and end-of-life care.
The complex offers transportation for shopping, sporting events, concerts, theater, and the ballet. A farmer’s market comes every Wednesday, and there is a corner store inside the complex where one can purchase snacks. There is a resident choir, a resident theatrical group, cooking classes, physical fitness classes, lectures, movies, open-air concerts in summer and fall, indoor concerts in winter and spring, 200 miles of walking trails just steps from the campus, and unimpeded views of Lake Michigan, which I think of as the ocean of the Midwest. The Great Lakes are often referred to as the “inland sea,” and indeed, Lake Michigan qualifies as exactly that.
I was born and raised in Wisconsin, and to Wisconsin I have returned, courtesy of the most loving and generous partner who ever lived. Until recently, she would never have considered moving to Wisconsin (her stomping grounds have been California and New York, so she hardly considers herself a midwestern girl).
But life changes, and as it changes, we may need to consider new perspectives and plan accordingly. When my partner and I were children, our parents managed our care, and as adults, we both managed care for our parents. Now, as we enter old age, my partner and I must manage, on our own, to address our potential need for care in the future. We have no children to rely on, and frankly, even if we did, having children does not guarantee their willingness or ability to suit up and show up when the chips are down.
This transition has come with a healthy dose of self-examination, brutal honesty, and blind conjecture. My mom would have called it “facing facts” and then would have hastened to inform me, for the 500th time, that “getting old ain’t for sissies.”
Of course, as always, she was absolutely right.
When my partner and I began mulling over how to plan for our next chapter, the conversations were infrequent and vague. But when my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer in June 2023 and subsequently died six weeks later, the conversations became far more frequent and focused. It seemed prudent to consider our next steps while we still had enough energy to take them.
We knew there were plenty of retirement options for senior citizens looking for a nice place to spend their “golden years.” Our research revealed many lovely communities to which one could retire, including some in the Berkshires, but not all of them would provide comprehensive services for residents who might need more intensive support as they aged. We knew one thing for certain: We only had one more move left in us, and neither of us wanted to contemplate having to move, again, to a separate assisted living facility, if we became too frail to manage daily tasks on our own.
That narrowed down our options considerably. Geographical considerations also helped to refine our focus. Neither of us wanted to return to the West Coast, our previous playground before moving east in 2010. We also had no interest in living in the Southwest, nor were we interested in moving to the Deep South, and having driven through the Great Plains during the summer of 2023 after my mother died, there was no way we would ever go back there again. We looked at options in New York City, but we quickly saw that we would be paying a fortune for what would amount to a large bedroom in a nicely appointed high-rise.
My partner and I would have been unable to coexist together in a single room for the rest of our lives, mostly because I am incredibly annoying, and she would have ended up murdering me. Trust me when I tell you that it would be justifiable homicide, but still, the point of the move was to extend our lives, not to end them surrounded by yellow crime scene tape.
Since I am a native Milwaukeean who loves Milwaukee still, my partner and I began to consider that possibility. I had been told by old friends of my parents—who have since passed away—that there was an absolutely gorgeous, comprehensive senior community in Milwaukee overlooking Lake Michigan.
As fate would have it, my partner and I had these discussions following my mother’s death, as we drove her orphaned dog across the country to her new home with my treasured friend Elaine. Elaine lives in Milwaukee. Her house is within walking distance of the retirement complex.
We decided to stroll over and have a look.
We were impressed. We asked lots of questions, viewed lots of apartment units, and spontaneously encountered a number of very friendly residents who waxed on poetically about the community. One of them said that she wished she had moved to the complex long before she did, and another told us that she and her husband had moved to the community not to grow old but to stay young. She is 95 years old and unbelievably spry, so, apparently, that is exactly what happened.
We deferred our decision for a number of weeks as we considered the daunting task of selling our home, packing everything up, and relocating. After thinking over timelines and a host of other considerations, we put ourselves on a waiting list for an apartment. It took some time for a unit to open up, since most residents exit horizontally, and as we have already established, once there, residents tend to live very long and happy lives. Frankly, I cannot imagine anyone voluntarily leaving a community that is, for all intents and purposes, a senior Shangri-La.
We are still settling in, but well on our way to becoming the active, independent seniors we had hoped to be. For the moment, all is well. We are both in ridiculously good health. We walk miles every day, are frequently out and about, have plenty of activities to keep us interested and occupied, and have lots of new acquaintances. Should we develop a need for additional support up the road, we have the peace of mind of knowing that those services are available right where we live, by a caring, capable, and compassionate staff. And as an added bonus, I am now at liberty to see dear Elaine, and my mother’s beloved dog, Xena Warrior Princess, as often as I like.
So far, we have not resorted to buying a case of Geritol to restore our vitality. We are sipping, instead, from the fountain of youth that flows from being active, engaged, safe, and in community with neighbors and friends.
We’ll skip the Geritol for now. White wine tastes so much better.
