Death and Loss—What No One Tells You Happens During Retirement

This author never expected it, and it is something that, presumably, the elderly do not mention to anyone. No one tells you what it is like to lose friends as you age.

Everyone says that retirement is a time for golf, travel, books gathering dust, fish camps and hunting. They call it a reward. The prize at the end of the race.

You made it. Now enjoy the view. But there are a few things they leave out.

But we all reflect on it, don’t we, i.e., when it will be our time? Who goes first, who goes second?

By the time retirement rolls around, some of your favorite people are already gone. We forget that as we age toward retirement, so do they.

Some went quietly; a stroke or a heart attack. In one case a call from his daughter. “He passed in his sleep just after dinner.” And that workmate was not returning, as quickly as that.

However, you become a bit more accustomed to this in your post-retirement. It’s not long before you recognize that each year of life in your community, it has lost someone.

It’s not always death. Others simply fade away; return to live with family in another state or city. Many will move to nursing homes or assisted living facilities.

They forget your name; you forget their name. They stop returning calls and you lose track; here one week, gone the next.

Even when retired, life gets busy. You meant to call; they meant to call, but you just, well, didn’t get around to it. Like family, they’re on your mind, but not always on your to-do list.

Regardless of the way, we notice it—and some more sharply than others. The silence of their not being in our lives, after a while, just settles in.

We sometimes comment to others about them, the way they did this or that. How they laughed at certain things, or some ridiculous habit.

The saddest thing to this author is to scroll through my contacts and see the name of someone that died. Perhaps, like me, you hesitate to delete it. You don’t know why, you just keep it a little longer.

As time passes, our stories become full of ghosts; people we went to school with, relatives, friends. Our 55th high school gathering is in 2025, and we know that there will be very few attending.

You look at the old pictures of them and you smile, but they’re not laughing with you anymore. It’s not easy to do more than just smile at the memory.

So, there, you see, no one tells you about this type of grief; this collection of missing souls. It’s not a loud emptiness, however, it is implicit in the word, ‘retired.’ Simply because it is about aging, which means ‘moving away from life,‘

It is a bit more gentle, hushed; usually not more than a dull ache behind your ribs.

But here’s what else they don’t tell you: you can still make friends. It’s harder—well, for some—but it’s possible and worth it.

You just have to say yes—to the awkward; to the unfamiliar; to the invitation.

Especially if you move into a retirement community. Friendship looks different now. It’s not the partying kind of friendship from our younger days, it’s a bit slower, less noise, more presence.

Aberdeen Retirement Community, Ormond Beach, FL.

Retirement communities usually have clubhouses, posted activities, amenities that bring people together. It’s someone who laughs at your dumb jokes. It’s coffee on Tuesday. A check-in text on a Thursday. It’s not flashy. But it matters.

You find connections at the senior centers, the garden club, or your church. Even in the grocery line. Basically, anywhere people show up.

You’ll meet someone and feel it. A spark. Not romantic—just recognition and familiarity, although there are those who still find romance.

And those we’ve lost—they never really leave. They stay in the way we tell stories they were in. The way we laugh. The recipes we still cook.

You don’t stop needing friendship just because you’re older, and you don’t stop deserving it either.

So reach out. Say hello. Share a memory. Tell your story.

You may very well be the blessing that someone else didn’t know they needed.