I don’t think it was an accident that our paths crossed when they did. I was struggling with what it means to get older. He showed me.
Any pre-conceptions about the elderly, Joe Svozil erased. He lived every one of his 90-plus years. A piano man in the Big Band era, he worked construction to pay the bills when that music faded. He never gave up the music, though, playing weekends at local clubs or wherever he could find the work.
Joe never married or had kids, believing a family deserved more than what life on the road could provide. As the years passed, he settled down and retired in Denver. In 2003, after surviving the flu (but not the theft of his possessions while in the hospital), he was moved to a nursing home. At 85, Joe began the daily fight to hang on to a life he once knew.
He was more accepting of his situation than I was. On more than one occasion, I found Joe in his room holding out hope that someone would finally answer his call button. There were staffers who really did care for him but there were also those who didn’t. I know he was lonely. It was heartbreaking when I would have to leave and he would hold my hand and say “Don’t go. Not yet.”
Joe had to fight against being treated like a child. Sitting with him in the dining room one night, I watched him reject one of the bibs they were handing out to residents.
When I would visit, Joe would say, “Tell me your stories. I’ve already heard all of mine.” When he did talk, it was about the days of playing with Glenn Miller or recalling how Audrey Hepburn would honk her horn as she drove by his apartment in L.A.
In his final weeks, though, Joe’s memories seemed to turn toward his childhood and family. It was like watching someone browse through an old photo album, sensing that time was coming to an end.
Joe was an example of what I fear about getting old. He lost his ability to drive, to live in his own place, to have control over his own life. He outlived his friends and eventually his money. He developed a chronic heart condition, and his health care seemed minimal. I’m convinced it was genetics and stubbornness that got Joe past the average life expectancy, not modern medicine.
But he was also an example of not letting a number dictate his life. Joe was a good sport about aging and seemed somewhat surprised at his own longevity. He made new friends and was always up for a good time, always ready to adventure out with his best friend, Steve, who provided the get-away car.
Joe saw getting older as a natural part of life and was comfortable in his own skin. I guess he did what I hope I can: He aged gracefully.
The last words Joe spoke to me were, “You talk. I’ll listen,” then he gently squeezed my hand. All I could think of was, “Don’t go. Not yet.”
Debbie Reslock (dreslock@q.com) of Evergreen is a partner in Reslock and Sullivan, an architectural and planning company.
