The Last Stage of Life, A Retirement Community

Understanding grief in everyday life.

Looks nice? I don’t care.

I am presenting another spontaneous post because moving time is very close. Please know that there are some political issues, especially war, that I will address very soon. But for today here is where I’m at:

I am grieving. It is Wednesday morning, and I’m getting closer to the day. I moved from my condominium to my senior community. I have my friends with Neighbors here, and some of them have promised that they will visit me to have lunch or breakfast or even dinner, and I have promised to come and see them. But when an era comes to an end. It is easy to make promises, and that is nobody’s fault, but I do have some doubts about whether these visits will come to pass.

In addition, I have to reduce the number of possessions I own—a variety of books on mental health and literature. Thanks to the miracle of Kindle. I have all or most of those books saved electronically, but in my mind, the old-fashioned guy I am, it’s not the same thing. Then, there is artwork on my walls, photographs, and several other prized possessions. It’s not that I can’t take them with me. It is just that I am moving into smaller quarters, and I won’t have the wall space to accommodate all the things I wish I could take with me.

And then, too, I am losing a certain amount of independence. Please don’t misunderstand that comment. I am moving into a totally independent Senior Community. It’ll be much easier to interact with people there than here. I have met some of those people we liked, And I think this will give me the opportunity to socialize. I have noticed as I’ve grown older, and since my wife died, I have pulled into myself and socialized less and less. But this is also the end of my total independence. With that sounding mileage dramatic, I have to say it is probably The last stage of my life.

I will continue to write on Substack. I am taking my computer with me, and the friends I’ve made on Substack will remain friends. If anything, I will communicate with them a lot more. I will continue to write about my outrage at the Trump administration. But I will also write about poetry and art and other things of interest to me. So, I’m announcing that I am not leaving Substack at all. Am I ready for this next stage of my life, probably the last stage? I don’t know if anyone is ever prepared. Please understand. I am not sick other than having my balance problems, and in this active community, I will have a chance to do some work on that, and I plan to see my Doctor again. Nevertheless, there is a process of grief.

Understanding grief is important because it is something that everyone experiences at some point in life. People often think of grief as the deep sadness that comes after losing someone they love, but grief is much more than that. It happens when anything important is lost, whether it is a person, a place, or something as simple as a favorite chair or book.

Losing a loved one is one of the hardest things to endure. It is not just about missing them; it is about missing their voice, laughter, presence, and small everyday moments that make life feel whole. It can be heartbreaking to see their empty chair, to pass by places you used to go together, or to hear a song that reminds you of them. Some days might feel manageable, but then suddenly, a memory comes back, and the sadness rushes in again.

Grief does not only come from losing people. It can also come from leaving a home that holds years of memories. A house is not just a place to live. It is where birthdays are celebrated, family meals are shared, and quiet evenings feel warm and familiar. Moving away can feel like leaving behind a part of yourself. Even if a new home is beautiful, it does not erase the feelings of loss.

Objects can also bring grief. A book filled with handwritten notes, a favorite old chair, a clock that has been in the family for years—these things hold memories. When they are gone, it can feel like losing a piece of the past. The loss may seem small to others, but it can feel like a deep wound to the person who loved those things.

Grief does not follow a set pattern. Some days are easier than others, and then suddenly, something triggers a memory, and the sadness returns. There is no right or wrong way to grieve, and there is no set amount of time for it to go away. Some people believe they should be over it after a while, but grief does not work that way. It stays with us, changing over time but never fully disappearing.

Grief is not only about sadness; it is also about love. People grieve because they care deeply. Every tear, every ache, every moment of longing is a sign that something or someone truly matters. That is what makes grief painful, but it also makes life meaningful.

Over time, grief does not disappear, but it becomes easier to carry. A lost home becomes a story to share. A lost object becomes a memory to hold close. A person who has passed away remains part of who we are. Grief is not about letting go. It is about learning how to hold on to their memory.

One final comment for this essay is that when the director and Board learned of my long background in mental health services, they asked me if I would voluntarily lead a grief support group, and I said yes!