We are honored to welcome back Eric Johnson as a guest blogger. Eric is a long-time broadcaster who recently retired after more than three decades of storytelling at KOMO TV in Seattle. His mom was a Merrill Gardens resident for seven years, and Eric is sharing his personal perspective with us in a series of blog posts.
When you’ve lived and loved, grown and changed and won and lost in this world for many, many years, there comes a time. A time for change. For my mom, Rachell Johnson, that change was Merrill Gardens.
After just a couple days, she said it felt like showing up at a new high school, where everyone already has their friends picked out. I said to her, “You mean after 82 years you don’t grow out of that stuff?”
“No,” she said, “it’s a very lonely feeling.”
My mom was a very engaging person, always eager to chat and make friends. But I think the “idea” of moving into a place like Merrill Gardens can be different from the reality of it. At first. The truth is that everybody DOES already have their friends picked out. There are groups that enjoy one another’s company. There are groups with common backgrounds. There are groups who sit together at meals and enjoy one another’s company.
To an outsider coming in, no matter the age, it can feel intimidating. It certainly did for my mom.
She called me a few days after she moved in, and here’s what she told me: “This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.” I only lived a couple miles away, so I was able to visit her almost every day. I said, “Want me to come over?” And I added “Everyone sure SEEMS nice.” I remember her saying, “It’s not that. I love it here. Everyone IS nice, but I just can’t seem to get past the ‘Hi, how are you?’ stage.” We talked about some strategies, and she said, “I’m just going to have to be brave and go ask if I can sit with someone at dinner and see what happens.”
And that’s what she did. Every night she would find a different person who was sitting alone at dinner. She would break the ice and sit down, and they would chat and share their stories. She worked the dining room in that way, and before long someone from one of the groups that ate together regularly, asked if she’d like to join them for dinner. As it turns out, making friends at a place like Merrill Gardens, or any retirement living residence for that matter, is done the old-fashioned way: by deciding to put yourself out there. Everything got better in a hurry for my mom.
The reason, I believe, is this: she stopped seeing the other residents as being simply ancillary pieces of her life, and instead, began to see herself as a part of a living, changing thing, a home and a refuge. A haven. Merrill Gardens.
There was a guy named Jack who lived down the hall. She started talking about him quite a lot. Mom was a Washington State Cougars fan, and one day he gave her a Cougar sweatshirt as a gift.
I met him a few times, and he was a great guy, fun and engaging. They became pretty good friends. I think he teased her, and she liked that. The truth is, I think Mom had a little crush on Jack. She was hurt when Jack passed away. Really hurt.
One night Mom told me, “You know, there are people here who don’t have anybody. Their children live far away, or else they don’t have any. They’re all alone.” Those people found a friend in Rachell Johnson. She sought them out.
Once, at a table with a group of friends, she said, “I think I’ll see if so-and-so wants to join us.” She pointed to a woman eating alone. But the idea was met with some resistance. “There’s no room,” someone said, or something like that. Mom said, “That’s OK, I’ll go sit with her then.” And she did.
In time, I was amazed at how the seeds of true friendship were planted and nurtured in the hallways and meeting places of Merrill Gardens. I watched in awe as people in the last portion of their lives cheerfully leaned upon one another for support. They went on field trips together and to churches and grocery stores. They sang together and danced and played cards. All the nice things. But more importantly, I think, they talked to one another honestly about what it means to grow old, what it means to lose loved ones, what it means to be alive and together, propping one another up to stand fast against time and pain and loneliness and a thousand other things.
And I heard so many conversations among residents about current news topics. People don’t move to Merrill Gardens to wall themselves off against modern life. No way. What I saw were citizens of the world, in the truest sense of the words, engaging with one another, discussing, sharing and marveling at this world we all share. The friendships at Merrill Gardens are beautiful.
Mom had one friend named Rita. She was tall and sweet, and they became very close. Two peas in a pod. They ate together and talked on the phone almost every night before they went to bed. Mom really loved Rita. “We’re just very good friends,” she said to me once. “We talk about our grandchildren a lot. We kind of see the world the same way.” I was so happy their friendship happened. One morning my mom called. She was crying. “Rita had a stroke,” she said. It happened so fast. One minute they were great friends, the next Rita was gone.
“I just feel so bad that I didn’t have a chance to tell her goodbye.", Mom said.
Which brings me to perhaps the most incredible thing about Merrill Gardens and the people who live there: all of them are in some form of pain. All of them are much closer to the end of their lives than they would like to admit. And all of them understand that. It’s an unspoken reality. Getting old, as they say, isn’t for wimps. And yet, they wake to face each day cheerfully, for the most part. They have good humor. They are optimistic. And dignified. They are very brave, I think. Even heroic.
And the reason, I believe, is that they are surrounded by people from their own generation, peers, who truly understand what it feels like to grow old. And they have each other. NOBODY is alone at Merrill Gardens.
Our parents live in places like Merrill Gardens because it makes sense. Because, like it or not, there comes a time. They go there to live and eat good food and to be active. To LIVE.
But even more importantly, they go to find one another. And yes, it’s tough at first. But ultimately, they find their people. They find the ones who they can help hold up, and also lean against as they make their stands against the irresistible rivers of time.
And once you understand that, once you come to terms with what is really happening in the lovely hallways and dining rooms and apartments of Merrill Gardens, what those friendships are REALLY about, you look at the place differently. It becomes profound. Life-affirming. It becomes even more beautiful than you ever could have imagined.