My dear friend Carol who passed away a few months ago at age almost 92 years, quite often succumbed to depression. When I visited her with my therapy dog, it didn’t take too long to lift her out of there, at least for a while.
One day we talked about how lucky she was to make it to the ripe old age of 90. A little research and we discovered that it turned out to be less than 5% of the population. To me, Carol was special! We reviewed all the things that she lived through to her almost 92nd birthday. It was remarkable. I reminded her that most people don’t make it to 90 years old and she should consider herself lucky. We should celebrate!
She bought my enthusiasm but countered with the fact that she often felt she had been pushed into a corner in a room down the hall and forgotten. In all appearances that was true.
Driving home that day, thinking about how there was something wrong with this story, I heard on the radio about intergenerational centers in Denmark and how they were celebrating their elders. That was the beginning of my story.