About a year ago my friend John died, alone in his house.
John was a 62-year-old divorced doctor. At a spring party the day before his death, he mentioned to some friends that he hadn’t been feeling quite right — some dizziness, some forgetfulness. One friend asked if he had seen a doctor, and his answer was, “Yes. Myself.” After a chuckle, someone asked what the doctor’s diagnosis had been. John joked that he’d been prescribed a good night’s sleep. Ultimately, John went and lay down in a guest room for half of the party, drove himself home and died within the next 12 hours from a brain aneurysm.
All sudden deaths are shocking. But the thing that makes John’s death an even greater tragedy is the fact that he lay in his bed for three days before anyone found him. John wasn’t a loner; he had a great group of friends, men and women, who socialized together regularly. We had cookouts, New Year’s Eve parties, enjoyed outings to nice restaurants. The group even had a name: The Wannabe Trainwrecks, of which John was the most instrumental member — and he still lay dead in his bed for three days until anyone found him.
I suppose those events affected me so strongly because I too live alone and I realized that what happened to John could just as easily happen to me, a divorced empty nester in Johnson City, Tenn. In fact, I’d wager that John’s sad and tragic end could happen to many of us. According to the most recent U.S. Census, I am far from alone in living alone. Currently more than 38 million Americans are on their own at home, a number that has tripled since 1940. It’s nice to know that I am in the good company of more than a quarter of the U.S. population.
I am a social person; some would say very social. I have a variety of friends with whom I attend plays, see storytellers, go out to eat, grab a beer and take regular walks with our pups. I spend a fair amount of time with my elderly parents and communicate with them a few times a week. So don’t think that just because I live alone I’m sitting in isolation each night when I come home from teaching. That’s not the case for me, and it wasn’t the case for John either.
Therein lies the problem.
How many people who live alone do not have a relationship with another person they talk with every day? John didn’t have such a relationship, and I don’t either. At first glance, this might not seem terribly problematic, but it would be in the best interest of everyone who lives alone to develop an agreement with someone they can check in with every day, rain or shine, no matter what. As a matter of safety that probably feels more like a friendly gesture, this daily contact could make the difference in whether a person lives or dies — or at least whether they lay dead in their home for three days before anyone takes notice.
I was discussing this topic with my eighth grade students the other day, and a boy in class told us a story he’d heard about a man ordering a pizza from a local shop every day as a matter of having regular contact with someone. Because this communication was so routine, one day when that man didn’t call in his order or answer his phone, the store manager drove to the man’s home and found that the gentleman had suffered a heart attack. Ironically, the unhealthy daily pizza orders created such a routine that they ended up saving his life.
Most of us live our lives as though “nothing can possibly go wrong, not to me,” which is a neglectful and cavalier attitude at best. I don’t want what happened to John to happen to me. The thought of lying alone helpless, sick, injured or even dead for days before anyone takes notice is one of the most horrible scenarios I can imagine.
After carefully considering all of my relationships, I arranged a daily contact with my lifelong friend Sonja. She is a loyal and trusted person in my life, and we have agreed on a quick daily check in so our wellness can be confirmed. If we have time, we’ll chat for a few minutes about our kids, some new restaurant, a cosmetic that wipes away the years. If time is short, we can respond with as little as a specific and unique emoji and rest easy knowing the other is alive and well. If a double text still yields no response within a half-hour, we would know to investigate further. It’s a simple and easy agreement that gives me comfort and peace of mind.
Even though I live alone, I know someone’s got my back, and I don’t take that for granted.
Rebecca Edmisten is a middle school teacher from Johnson City, Tenn.
The post Why the 38 million Americans who live alone need a ‘buddy system’ appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
