Jumping Through Hoops – And Off A Cliff?

I will reach a milestone birthday in June. The birthday that entitles you to (gasp!) government health care insurance and an array of “senior discounts.” Whoopee.

I feel like I’ve been jumping through a lot of hoops getting ready. I applied for said insurance and got the card that proves I’m enrolled; I enrolled in a “supplemental” plan that will pay most of the 20% the gubment won’t pay, and now I’m supposed to go find a prescription drug plan, even though I don’t take any prescription drugs (not yet, anyway).

But there’s another thing I’m going to do that feels less like jumping through a hoop and more like jumping off a cliff: I’m going to retire. Soon. Really soon.

Angelic Daughter calls this “graduating” from work. The idea is to spend an intensive year helping her learn more independent living skills and warm up to the idea of living in a place of her own (with help, of course, but independent of me, although I will still be one of her main helpers).

Right now her plan is pretty much to live with me in my house forever. But I know I have a duty to launch her as much as she can be launched, and I need to do it while I’m still walking and talking. I can’t have her watching me decline, and trying to take care of me. That can’t happen.

But jumping into retirement before my official retirement age carries what feels like a lot of risk. I don’t think I have anywhere near enough retirement savings to last as long as I’m likely to (Mom died at 90 and three days; Grandma at 88, my Aunt just turned 91, so you get my drift). I’m going to have to come up with some creative ways to generate income, or if not income at least “revenue” somehow.

When I sent the email to my colleagues (supervisor, or in my company’s parlance, “Team Lead,” his lead, and her lead) I made a point to ensure no bridges were burned, because I need to keep open the possibility of crawling back to my current employer if funds run low.

I’ve had prior “sabbaticals” or interludes of un- or under-employment, and they’re very stressful. Retirement is supposed to be the time you can finally have fun, travel, sleep late, and generally enjoy life. But my focus will be on helping Angelic Daughter, and on “Swedish death cleaning,” trying to shovel out closets and my garage, so my stuff, which doesn’t mean much to anyone but me, doesn’t burden the ones I’ve chosen to handle things when I loose this mortal coil.

Somewhere in there, I hope to throw in some travel, but realistically I can’t afford it. Maybe that’s why I had so many wonderful travel adventures when I was younger–Italy, France, Mexico, and the UK. But I’d still love to see Alaska, Ireland, Australia, Spain, and Greek Islands in the Mediterranean. Hell, if I could just have one week to myself in a cottage by the sea in Maine in August, I’d be blissed out. Well, not really – because I’d worry constantly about how Angelic Daughter is doing, whether whoever is taking care of her listened to me and read the lengthy instructions I no doubt would have printed up for them, and how Angelic Daughter is managing without me there every minute of her day.

One step at a time, Annie.

The plan is to spend my first afternoon as a retiree at Wrigley Field with my brother. Pray for good weather and the wind blowing out. This is possible because one of Angelic Daughter’s favored companions suddenly informed me of availability in the upcoming weeks. I had it all set up to take a few days off on either side of Memorial Day, but as it turns out my employer doesn’t allow days off in your final two weeks in their employ.

So I backed up my departure date by a week and a half, because dammit, I’m taking advantage of an opportunity to go to a ballgame with my brother when I know Angelic Daughter is with a trusted companion.

My fingers are crossed that my retirement withdrawals will show up in my bank account as scheduled. It took far too many attempts and way too many phone conversations to get it done, so I’m jumpy about that.

And because the local high school district managed to pass a referendum for more than $100 million for improvements to high school buildings, my property taxes went up by more than $400. And recent medical tests and dental work resulted in over $1000 of costs not covered by insurance. And my car’s horn stopped working, and I need electrical work done, and I want to get rid of my gas stove and get a new electric one, and wouldn’t it be nice to have heat pump air conditioners in the bedrooms so Angelic Daughter wouldn’t insist on sleeping in the basement on hot summer nights? I see those meager retirement funds dissipating faster than mist over a grassy field on a hot, cloudless summer day.

But the die is cast. I’m gonna do this. I’ll figure something out. Angelic Daughter has been patient for four years of me being home with her but not really with her, because I was working. She deserves my attention, and I’m going to give it to her.

This is all contingent on me getting through yet another few medical procedures (routine tests with extremely unpleasant “prep”) next weekend. So send good vibes that I’ll come out of that, and come out healthy and unperforated!

Getting older is not for sissies. It’s braving and solving and enduring one thing after another. The trick is to be grateful for all of it, foremost for waking up in the morning, breathing. Did that today! Yay me.

Hoping for a soft landing for my upcoming leap off the cliff of full-time employment to holy-shit-what-have-I-done, I remain,

Your anxious, list-making, busy-beeing, hoop-jumping, absolutely certain she doesn’t look anywhere near as old as she is going to be next month,

Ridiculouswoman