They call it “God’s Waiting Room.”
Upon my arrival at my parents’ new residence in sunny South Florida, they whisked me off to explore the clubhouse—a staple of the numerous gated communities designed for those aged 55 and over. My father introduced me to his group of male companions, whom I instantly nicknamed “Golf Buddies.”
First up was Max, an oddly sun-kissed man in his seventies, sporting a gold “chai” pendant that dangled just above his rather round belly. I half-expected him to step out of a film that depicted the lives of Jewish retirees; he was that quintessential. It’s no wonder the local deli, “Brooklyn Bagels,” is a favorite spot for many transplants from the Northeast.
Greetings from the Lanai!
My parents have settled right onto a golf course. Sporting my old vintage band t-shirt, I spent my mornings in their sunlit “Florida Room,” chatting with friends online and proudly declaring, “Greetings from the Lanai!” as geckos scurried by and golfers played through. (Like the Inuit have many words for snow, Floridians can’t seem to agree on what to call their screened porches.)
On my second day in Boca, we dined at a local deli that served both lox and nova. It was a sobering moment. Many patrons were accompanied by aides, some navigating with walkers, while others slowly enjoyed their whitefish sandwiches with arthritic hands. The atmosphere felt reminiscent of a hospital waiting area, the air thick with the scent of illness and pickles.
I couldn’t help but picture my eternally youthful mother, who still rocks Zumba five times a week, frequenting this deli for the next decade, all to snag a $5.99 lunch special before 1 p.m. I teared up behind my sunglasses; the thought was overwhelming.
I never imagined they’d end up here.
Honestly, I never envisioned my parents settling down in this way. They were once the coolest parents in my circle, former hippies who broke the mold. My dad ran Long Island’s first head shop, “The Magic Cottage,” when I was a child. Our basement featured a six-foot tall bamboo bong, and rolling papers filled my dad’s nightstand. When I first tried weed at a party in 1987, I panicked and called my mom. “Mom, I smoked pot and I’m definitely going to die tonight,” I sobbed, “could you come get me?” Instead of reprimanding me, she made tea and sat at the edge of my bed, while my dad peeked in, chuckling at my melodrama.
Both my parents have fantastic taste in music. My dad’s collection of rare blues records educated me about artists from Bo Diddley to the Rolling Stones to Jimmy Cliff and beyond. While Jews might not be renowned for their rhythm, our family’s bar mitzvah dance moves were legendary among friends and relatives.
Off to Boca, Where Retirees Gather
Two years ago, my dad experienced a serious heart attack, which led to a quintuple bypass surgery. During his recuperation, he expressed the need to retire, prompting a move away from Long Island—the area with the highest property taxes in the U.S. My parents decided to relocate to Boca, a place often humorously referred to as where “all the Jews go to die.”
If all of Florida is deemed “God’s Waiting Room” due to its high percentage of retirees (64 percent in 2012), the Boca/Delray/Boynton Beach area boasts one of the largest concentrations of Jewish residents. For my parents, it felt like returning home—almost as if they had moved to a snow-free version of Long Island.
I’m relieved that my father is now more relaxed, free from the daily grind of work. My mother enjoys evening glasses of wine and power walks through nearby nature preserves. They often take spontaneous trips to the beach, which is lovely.
Yet, I feel a sense of unease, knowing this is potentially their final chapter. This is where I will come during health emergencies, and instead of a quick train ride, I’ll have to book a flight from New York City.
But they are content, and they face this phase of life with courage. I realize it’s me who needs to come to terms with their new reality. After spending a week in Boca, I recognize that this chapter will be filled with warmth and sunshine. Admittedly, life on the Lanai isn’t so bad after all.
For more insights on parenthood and navigating life’s transitions, check out this resourceful blog about various topics including family dynamics. If you’re interested in learning about fertility journeys, consider visiting this informative page, which offers valuable information. Additionally, for more on pregnancy and home insemination, this is an excellent resource.
In summary, visiting my retired parents in Boca Raton has been a mix of nostalgia and reflection on life’s cycles. While their new phase brings some apprehension, it is also filled with joy and a vibrant community. Life here on the Lanai is a reminder of the beauty of living in the moment.