Independent Living
How to play the end of the game
The room was large and contained most of the things that had meaning for him.
It also had a view, and he was pleased about that. The large Oriental rug, owned for decades, now covered the wall-to-wall carpet and made the room his. They had put in bookshelves and those were filled with the diverse volumes that defined his life. The shelves were arranged so that some his artwork could be interspersed among the books.
The room resembled an office or gentleman’s club. The view out the front showed trees, fenced grounds, and a street headed down the hill. The mountains were visible some miles to the west.
To the left was a bedroom and the artwork trailed into there. To the right was another, now an office. He always had an office at home, and not to have one here would be like losing a long-time friend. By any standard of commercial senior care, it was a fine place.
This was the best of the institutions that managed seniors at the ends of their lives and his was one of the best rooms. Family and visitors invariably commented on the spaciousness, the view, and the comfort and security of the surroundings.
He hated it! But, having passed from impotent rage, through fruitless arguments, to moderately serious depression, he had arrived at…
