Quotes of the Day
Linda Schweitzer isn't a wallower. The petite blond, 56, is pragmatic and capable. Problems get solved, and little is left unresolved in her life. So when she was darkened by a profound sadness one ordinary Sunday afternoon at her sister-in-law's house in Shelton, Conn., she knew something had to be done.
The cause of her dismay? Call it family-happiness envy. Linda watched her sister-in-law Jan chat with her two grown children as five grandchildren roughhoused on the lawn; everyone lived nearby, and gatherings like this one were spontaneous and commonplace. For Linda and her husband Bill, on the other hand, visits to their two children were planned well in advance and punctuated by long absences. "Our children were living 3,000 miles away," she says. "We had lots of phone calls, and we got together for special occasions, but that's not the same as casual, no-special-reason get-togethers. I knew we were missing something important, living so far away."
That gnawing sense of missed opportunity finally won out. In March 2000 the Schweitzers, then 52 and 53, sold their home in Connecticut, invited all their friends to a grand farewell shindig and set out for Portland, Ore., where they found a home less than 10 miles from their son, daughter-in-law and infant granddaughter. "We didn't want to wait until we were frail, until we needed our children. We wanted to move while we could baby-sit, go to the zoo with them, have them over for dinner once in a while," says Linda.
She's not the only one longing for more family interaction. A recent study by AARP shows that 80% of adults over age 45 agree it's important to live near their children and grandchildren. And many are acting upon that urge — the hope being that proximity breeds contentment. "Around age 50 or 60, people have to make a decision about where they want to spend the second half of their life," says Valerie VanBooven, president of Senior Care Solutions, a consulting firm in St. Louis, Mo. "They used to choose the Sunbelt. Now they're choosing the communities where their children live."
The decision, however, can be more sensitive than you might think. Those who embrace the idea in the abstract are sometimes hesitant to talk about it publicly. "When I'm asked what brought me to Texas, I just about choke," says Leanna Haar, 62. "If I admit that I left Omaha to be near my son and his family in Texas, people assume I've settled into a dotty old age, that I'm nobody except a grandma. It's weird to think of myself that way — and not true!"
A life apart, say the experts, is absolutely imperative. The decision to move can't be motivated solely by a need to see your children more often. Identifying the right community should be a major consideration before you uproot everything, says Matti Gershenfeld, secretary-general of the International Council of Psychologists. "You have to move to a place where you could be happy even if your child gets transferred to another city — a place you can afford, where you like the weather, where it's easy for old friends to visit, where you can find things to do and new friends to be with. Otherwise, there's a danger that you'll look to your children to give you life," she says.
That said, moving closer to your children certainly lets you establish a new relationship with them in a different context. Take Harold Nussbaum, 54, who wanted to know his daughter Fanita better. She was 7 when Harold and her mother divorced, and although he did his best to keep in touch, he felt he had missed out on big pieces of her life. So in 1998 he and his wife Gloria, 52, moved from their longtime home in Akron, Pa., to Beaverton, Ore. Now they live seven miles from Fanita, her husband and her three children. "We concentrate on simple things, like taking walks or going to the park," says Harold. "We also do birthday and holiday celebrations, but the regular things are what keep us going."
Fanita, who grew up referring to her father by his first name, began last year calling him Dad. For Harold, hearing his daughter say that one word made the difficulties of relocating more than worth it.
Even when a new community is a good fit and the relationships with their adult children and grandchildren go smoothly, many people find that resettling is most unsettling. Carol Dixon, 64, thought she knew all about grief and loss from her years as a hospice administrator. But when she and her husband Bob, 66, moved from Yellow Springs, Ohio, to a small mountain community in North Carolina to be near their son, she started to learn about loss firsthand. "We'd lived in Ohio for 32 years. Suddenly, I lost a community and job that I loved, a house we'd built ourselves, easy contact with most of our family and friends," she says. "When I got to North Carolina, the house didn't smell like my house, I didn't know which aisle to go down at the grocery store, and I didn't know my neighbors. I didn't know anybody but my kids."
Carol did all the right things that one does to become part of a community. She joined a church, took classes and became involved in volunteer activities. "Today we have friends here, but we don't have a history with these people," says Carol. "It's good, but it's different."
It seems that now, seven years into the move, Carol and Bob have overcome the difficulties of the initial transition. They're comfortably Southern and delighted with their roles as nearby parents and grandparents. "The best part is seeing the results of our parenting as we watch our son in his role as parent," says Carol. "It's a feeling of continuity."
The Dixons have had such a turn of heart about the experience that they might just repeat it. A few months ago their daughter and son-in-law, who live in California, had their first child. "We're considering a move to the West Coast," says Carol.
Inevitably, a few folks can't adjust and move back to their original community. But the overwhelming majority deal with the challenges and revel in the rewards. As for the Schweitzers, the move has been "a grand adventure." Soon after they settled into their new house, their son and daughter-in-law had a second child and found a more suitable home, which was, coincidentally, right next door to Linda and Bill. Their lives are anything but a rough replica of Everybody Loves Raymond. "We rarely see them more than once a week," Linda says. "My son is a busy man. He has a family, a wife, a business. I don't expect him to sit down and talk to Mom all the time. I don't expect to be included in everything they do."
But they are included in many things — some planned, some not. "Our life is balanced now," says Linda. "We've met new people, we've got new jobs, we're exploring a new area, and we're near our family. I look at myself in the mirror, and no, I'm not 21, but I feel young and alive and grateful for the joy of every day. It's been everything I dreamed it would be and then some."
- Andrea Gross/Denver