What it’s like to make your ‘final move’ into a retirement village

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Renzo and Robyn Vettori are a Kiwi couple who have moved into a retirement village. Robyn, and two other retirement village residents, share their experiences. Photo / Supplied
Three ageing Kiwis tell Sinead Corcoran Dye how it feels to move house for the last time in their twilight years
Robyn, 71, retired nurse
My husband Renzo and I recently celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary – and soon after I knew it was the right time to make our “final move” into a retirement village. At the time he felt it was too soon – but his health issues were increasing, and our family home was too far from the local hospital. We’ve been here 10 months now.
It was definitely a huge move though, and it took us months to settle into this new way of living. We were told it would take at least a year to adjust. But I have no regrets. It was time for a new family to live in our big home and for us to move on to the next stage of our life. And I think it’s good to come here early to enjoy all the benefits while you are able.
Plus, due to the spaciousness and size of our villa we were able to bring all our furniture, so it still feels like home – and we pay a weekly fee which we find comparable to payments we paid living in our home. We also have no outside maintenance costs now.
The best part about it is definitely the camaraderie amongst the residents – friendships are formed so easily because we’re all in this together. And our old friends from before still visit us often.
And the facilities are great – think pools, a clubhouse, croquet courts, a cinema, a gym, crafts and knitting. The staff are also wonderful, they make you feel so welcome and nothing is ever too much for them.
But the worst part of all is you’re faced with people who are unwell, declining and dying.
I do think my relationship with my husband has improved for the better since moving into the village – because we feel safe and secure in our new home, and we socialise together a lot more.
We’re also a lot closer geographically to our children and grandchildren, and our grandkids are actually currently staying with us. Our village runs an excellent grandchildren’s holiday programme.
We go to the pool most mornings to swim and water walk, we play snooker and are part of craft and knitting groups. We are also both on committees within the village and enjoy mixing with other residents in the clubhouse for Happy Hour. We have a cafe onsite where we meet friends for coffee and we play MahJong or head to the library.
And while neither my husband nor I currently need hands-on medical care – the villas are well set up for if that happens in the future, with wide halls and wheelchair access safety bars.
It’s just all about getting on with life – even when you know this is your “last stop”. It’s also relaxing to know you’ll never have to move house again. And I know the friends we have made already will be supportive when one of us is left on their own – as is inevitable. The one left behind will be in a safe, familiar place – and we believe this move is a way of caring for each other when this happens.
Margaret, 82, retired nurse
My husband and I decided to move to a retirement village three years ago when he developed cognitive impairment. He had become fixated on the idea of clearing out the guttering on the roof so our son took the ladder away. But my husband then stacked an outdoor chair on top of a table to get on to the roof so it was an accident waiting to happen.
We had been in the same home for more than 50 years, and raised our family there, so there were so many memories – but l still knew it was the right decision.
We chose a village in our area so we’d still be close to family and friends and our regular activities such as church, bowls and bridge. We live in a villa onsite now; meals are available to buy and there are many activities to choose from. There are also lots of options for entertainment like bus trips to the shopping malls or interesting places to visit.
Our family home had also been very large, so moving into the villa was a real downsize. We only took what we needed – like our dining table and chairs, and gave a lot away to our family. We had also been volunteers with St Vincent de Paul so many of our belongings went there for those in need.
I feel safe here. My husband recently had a bad stroke and was in hospital for some time, but he was then able to get a private hospital bed in the care facility here in the village which enables me to visit him easily every day – and each week he is able to be taken on a special van trip to the beach.
My neighbours are also really caring and so supportive with my husband being ill. There’s lots of activities on offer to socialise with them – there’s a swimming pool and bowling green, snooker, a gym, fitness, a garden club and more. And while we’re encouraged to always greet new members and be very welcoming – it’s also important we respect each other’s privacy.
The worst part about moving into the village and out of our family home is the loss of capital from buying Occupation Right Agreement, so we no longer own our home.
We still keep in touch with our old friends through technology and the telephone – but most of our friends are no longer with us.
Three of our four children live in Auckland, along with our seven grandchildren. They lead busy lives of course but do visit often and technology is great for sharing their news and photos.
The staff have all been chosen really well – we’ve got a team of chefs, nurses, caregivers, gardeners and more. And there’s regular residents’ meetings to inform us on what’s coming up in the village.
I am so pleased we moved in here when we did, as we had time to settle in before my husband had his stroke.
I am making the most of the time he and I have left together. It is the people in my life that enrich it and I am grateful for that.
Frank, 84, retired carpenter
My wife was the one who wanted us to move into a village. I wasn’t ready – and resisted her pleas for months. Retirement villages were for old people, and I didn’t want to accept that I was now an old person. And our life was in Auckland, our friends were there and I had so many groups I was part of – a book club, a fishing group, an art class.
But she argued that she had spent her life going along with what I wanted, where I wanted to live – that while she’d raised our children I had gotten to make all the decisions for our family for the past 50 years and now it was her turn.
So, I caved and we moved an hour out of Auckland into a village. Before we made the move, my wife had seemed so excited at the prospect of all the activities and classes on offer – like aqua jogging, cycling around the village and pottery classes. But when we moved in, she didn’t want to do any of it. She seemed like she regretted us moving in – but she’d never admit it as she’d been the one to force my hand.
But I joined in with some of the activities like lawn bowls and a new painting class, even though I missed my old classes – and my old friends.
Shortly after we moved in, my wife went downhill. While there was of course medical staff on site to help, I felt like I became her nurse, driver, carer and cook. I quickly got used to people always asking after her, but it felt like they forgot about me a bit. I did feel quite invisible.
My wife died a few months later. And here I was, alone in a new place – a new home that I hadn’t been ready for.
It’s been a year since she died, and while I want to go back to doing the activities – most days I just stay in our villa reading my book. And when I do go down to the common areas for a meal, I take my book with me so I don’t feel so ‘on my own,’ – and also so no one tries to chat to me. I don’t feel like socialising yet.
While I don’t want to go back to Auckland to our family home, this doesn’t quite feel like home either. It’s a different sort of life to what I was used to. To give up your home, it does feel like a loss – like when I retired and wasn’t sure who I was anymore. If I didn’t have my books in here, I don’t know what I’d do. I think I’d be really sad.
I do stay in touch with our old friends back in Auckland using the internet, and two of our children live there so I occasionally drive up to visit them, but even though it’s only an hour drive, it feels like a big effort.
Our third child does live nearby – that’s why my wife chose a village here – but she and her family are busy with their own lives. They come visit every weekend, but it’s not the same as having my wife with me all the time. I miss the companionship. And the once-a-week planned visits make me feel like I really am an old person. I don’t want to be old; I don’t feel old – except for being tired.
I don’t want to rush towards death, but I am conscious that our life savings will diminish the longer I am here. It does seem unfair that you put aside a bit of money for your family and that all goes.
Part of me is mad at my wife for insisting we move here when I didn’t feel ready. But most of me just misses her.
I don’t know if I’m lonely exactly. People are always checking in on me and there’s 24-hour care available if I need it. I have a nice house, there’s good communal facilities, activities and outings available and there’s usually something on every day. There’s really nothing I can fault, nothing missing. I’ve got everything I need, and I have all the help I need for the future. It’s a place I’d certainly recommend to others. But sometimes I do feel like I’m just existing.
And I don’t want to just fade away, I don’t want my last years to be a waste. I try to walk a lot; I know it’s good because it helps you stay positive. And I know I am better off here than back in our house in Auckland on my own. I might go back to painting class soon.
Sinead Corcoran Dye is an Auckland-based writer, copywriter and communications specialist with a decade of experience in lifestyle content. The mother of one and stepmother of two’s first book on motherhood will be published in February 2025.
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