Yesterday was my aunt Ann’s birthday, so I traveled to Greenville, NC, for a day of shopping, dressing room banter as we tried on bargains, and dinner with my aunt Linda. Instead, what began as a visit to thank Ida, her former coworker, for a birthday gift turned into a call to the police department for a welfare check. Repeated calls to the landline and knocks on her bedroom window went unanswered.
Finally, I asked how many bathrooms there were: one. My aunt got a chair and knocked on the bathroom window. Ida had fallen in the bathroom at 2:30 am and was unable to move. Police arrived and gave my aunt a boost through the window. It was nearly 5 pm before EMS removed her from the house.
Fourteen hours on the bathroom floor.
This experience has me thinking about my own mortality.
Who would climb through a window if they didn’t hear from me for a few days?
Who would call for a welfare check for me?
Who has the key to my house so they don’t have to climb through my window?
I have seen a key box at the homes of older adults, and the local police department has the code.
Moreover, who would I check on?
The Pattern We Forgot
During COVID, we remembered how to do this. Phone and electronic contact remained stable, while video calls increased, with 8% of older adults adding weekly video communication. We checked on our neighbors. We noticed when someone went quiet.
Then we stopped. Weekly in-person contact among adults 70 and older fell from 61% before the pandemic to 39% during it—and never fully recovered. Phone contact stayed stable, but we’re not using it the way we did when we were scared.
Meanwhile, the number of people living alone continues to grow. Between 2010 and 2024, the number of older adults living alone increased across every demographic group (See Table 1).
Table 1: Adults Living Alone 65+
Source: 2010 and 2024 American Community Survey. www.ipums.org
More of us are living alone. Fewer of us are checking in.
The Reality We Don’t Talk About
Ida is a recent widow and has no biological children. Many will think that having children lessens the probability that you’ll be dead in your house for days or lying on the floor for hours. However, CBS News did a story on estranged child-parent relationships—the reality is more complicated than we admit.
As someone without children, I have nurturing relationships with several young people in my life who have said, “Sharpe, I will take care of you when you are old.” Their offer has me contemplating several questions:
- Do I want them to take on that responsibility?
- Should I use the wealth I have accumulated to supplement long-term care insurance benefits?
- Should I transfer my wealth to whoever is taking care of me to give them an advantage or as compensation?
Yes, I understand that I can plan to be in a financial position to do both. But many women may not be able to. We live longer. We earn less. And when caregiving needs arise—whether giving or receiving—women’s financial security takes the hit.
Table 2. Life Expectancy and Wages by Race and Ethnicity
Sources: CDC National Center for Health Statistics (2022 life expectancy); U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics (Q4 2024 median weekly earnings for full-time workers)
What I’m Going to Do
I don’t have all the answers. But I know this: Ida shouldn’t have been alone on that floor for 14 hours. And I don’t want to be, either.
So, here’s what I have done and am committed to doing:
- Identify the three people I’m going to check on regularly—and tell them I’m doing it (committing)
- Ask my local police and fire department about key box programs (committing)
- Given my house key to two people who will notice if I go quiet (done)
- Set up a weekly check-in call—and keep it (done)
- Have the long-term care insurance conversation (done)
WISER’s work centers the data and lived experiences of Asian, Black, Hispanic, Indigenous American, and Multiracial women in conversations about aging and caregiving—making sure we’re not invisible in the policies that shape our lives. But no policy replaces someone who cares whether you answered the phone this morning.”
COVID taught us we could do this. We called more. We checked more. We noticed more.
Let’s not wait for another pandemic to remember.
Rhonda V. Sharpe is the president and founder of the Women’s Institute for Science, Equity and Race. Her research focuses on gender and racial inequality, the diversity of STEM, and the demography of higher education.