It's not a cliche, it's the truth. The World War II generation deserves its nickname. They survived the Great Depression. They volunteered to fight a war they believed in, and those who did not lose their lives, still they lost their innocence.
How will we care for them now? What do they deserve? Institutional extended care facilities with overworked, underpaid staff? Move them out of their homes because it's too expensive to care for them there? Put them in rooms with linoleum floors and roommates who scream and food brought in refrigerated trucks?
Why not something better? What will it be? What will we want when we are finished earning a living and need to rely on what we have saved and what others will donate through taxes or willingly?
We will want to be asked. We will want to be a part of the decision of where and how we live out the last years of our lives. What do you want? Tell someone.
I want to be in my home with my kitties and my family. If I can afford it, I will want to stay at home and watch television all night now and then. I want to eat when I feel like it. I want to be able to take up new hobbies that I'll finally have time for: piano lessons, reading the Great Classics, learning a foreign language or two, writing the Great American Novel finally. I want my computer internet working, a stereo, and whatever newest electronic toys are coming out. I want unlimited visits from children and grandchildren, grown or otherwise. I want a garden to sit in.
Respect, comfort, kindness. These are the things I wish for all aging people.
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