Donald Hammen, 80, and his longtime next-door neighbor in south Minneapolis, Julie McMahon, have an understanding. Every morning, she checks to see whether he's raised the blinds in his dining room window. If not, she'll call Hammen or let herself into his house to see what's going on.
Should McMahon find Hammen in a bad way, she plans to contact his sister-in-law, who lives in a suburb of Des Moines. That's his closest relative. Hammen never married or had children, and his younger brother died in 2022.
Although Hammen lives alone, a web of relationships binds him to his city and his community — neighbors, friends, former co-workers, fellow volunteers with an advocacy group for seniors, and fellow members of a group of solo agers. McMahon is an emergency contact, as is a former co-worker. When Hammen was hit by a car in February 2019, another neighbor did his laundry.
A friend came over to keep him company. Other people went on walks with Hammen as he got back on his feet. Those connections are certainly sustaining.
Yet Hammen has no idea who might care for him should he become unable to care for himself. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," he told me. These are fundamental questions for older adults who live alone: Who will be there for them, for matters large and small? Who will help them navigate the ever more complex health care system and advocate on their behalf? Who will take out the garbage if it becomes too difficult to carry? Who will shovel the snow if a.
