This interview is based on a conversation with Jacob Watson, 84, an ordained interfaith minister, writer, and former grief counselor, from Portland, Maine. It has been edited for length and clarity.
My late wife, Kristine, and I were grief counselors, which inevitably led us to discuss our own arrangements for the end of life.
We decided we wanted to “age in place” and stay in our 2,100-square-foot home, built in 1915.
The downstairs bathroom was converted into a handicapped-accessible bathroom with the intention of us living on the first floor as we got older.
But the “we” never happened. On August 3, 2021, a few days after our 33rd wedding anniversary, Kristine died of a heart attack at 71. It was a terrible shock to me and everyone in the family.
I considered an assisted living facility
After that, I lived alone. However, since I have macular degeneration, my vision has gotten progressively worse. I found it increasingly difficult to see everyday things like the numbers on the stove or microwave.
Three years ago, I began to think, ‘I can’t do this by myself.’ I seriously considered selling the house and moving into an assisted living facility.
I thought it would be a relief to know that someone else was taking care of me and would fix anything that went wrong with the property.
But I got almost physically sick when I visited the facilities. I knew the lifestyle wasn’t right for me, and I wouldn’t feel independent or stimulated.
Besides, those apartments are in such high demand that I could have been on a waiting list for two years or more.
It dawned on me that, if I wanted to stick to my original plan, I’d need to take a deep breath and ask for help.
I needed help with my eyesight issues
I figured it would be a good idea to have someone live under the same roof who could watch out for me. They could take over the upstairs — which had two bedrooms, a living room, and a full bathroom — and I could live downstairs.
In 2024, I actively started looking for a housemate or two. In return for a reduced rent, they’d do a few things for me, like cooking an evening meal twice a week, going to the grocery store, and occasionally driving me places.
My acquaintances shared the blurb I wrote with their own contacts. The rent would be $1,350 a month, including utilities, in exchange for 8 hours a week of help with my eyesight issues.
It could be anything from assisting me with my Mac to putting out trash and compost for pickup. I also asked for a weekly check-in when we could discuss the division of the chores and other matters.
My first housemate, Karrie, a 50-year-old physiotherapist, whom I met through my massage therapist, arrived in November 2024 and stayed for a one-year lease.
My daughter, Sarah, 56, who lives about 20 minutes away, made a point of coming over to help me interview her. She obviously wanted to know who this person was who was coming to live with her dad.
Then my current helper, Kathleen, 39, who works for a nonprofit, moved here in January 2026. She is due to move out at the end of May, so I’m hoping to find another natural caregiver to replace her.
We don’t live in each other’s pockets
Both Karrie and Kristine proved to be an excellent match. They’re very independent, and out of the house most of the day, either working or socializing.
It definitely helped that we had our own interests and activities. I’ve always kept busy with my writing, which includes books about grief and meditations, and I have a large network of friends and family.
It wouldn’t have worked so well if my housemates and I lived in each other’s pockets.
One of the most useful things is being able to compose a grocery list and have someone else shop for me. I also really benefit from being able to share the household cooking.
We have a whiteboard in the communal kitchen to keep track of our weekly dinners. Kathleen often prepares larger meals that last for a couple of days, which is a great idea.
It’s been an adjustment to have housemates
There’s also something very reassuring about knowing someone is there in an emergency, such as if I have a fall. Our house is old, and I used to think the creaking and groaning of the floorboards were bad.
Now, when I hear them, I think of them as a positive thing because I know I’m not alone.
It’s been an adjustment to open my house to other people. But so is aging in general. I feel blessed and grateful to be living this interesting situation as I get older. It feels like a win-win.
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