By Mark Harvey

Most of us aren’t really looking to live forever — and that’s good, because the odds are against it.

Let’s face it: We’ve all been rolling the dice since the day we showed up on this planet and, in all likelihood, from nine months before that.

Before we even knew what “hope” was, we were hoping we’d show up, more or less in one piece, with most of the necessary parts intact and working, most of the time. We hoped we’d be greeted by grownups who actually liked us, were glad that we’d showed up and were willing to take reasonably good care of us.

We hoped that we’d manage to grow up, have a reasonably good time doing it, find a way to sustain ourselves and learn to be reasonably decent human beings, most of the time.

And we hoped we’d be loved.

Against all odds, most of us have come pretty close: It wasn’t perfect, and mistakes were made by all concerned. But, if we were really lucky, somebody taught us to love.

Even then, though, in the midst of a Mulligan stew of blessings and curses, most of us will concede that we’re not really looking to live forever — we’re just looking to live until it’s time to do something else.

And that’s where I come in.

People who have figured this last part out often ask me: “How should I plan for long-term care?” To which I reply, “Make a lot of money, be extraordinarily healthy and make sure your very large family really likes you.” And there still won’t be any guarantees.

That’s not to say that it isn’t worth our time to plan. It certainly is, because there are a lot of things we can do to make this “aging thing” easier for ourselves and the people we purport to love. But what people usually want when they ask that question (or something like it) are guarantees.

Not on this planet.

But that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try, so we try to figure out what could go wrong: Money? Health? Food? Shelter? Transportation? Money?

And sometimes good people come to me because they want to help people — usually elders — who need help, so they ask me how, thinking the reply will have something to do with a program or a building or a service they could perform — and there may well be. But here’s what puts most folks under most of the time: ignorance, isolation and fear.

It often goes like this: She or he begins to realize, for any number of reasons, that she or he needs a little help, but she or he is terrified: “If they (whoever “they” are) knew how much help I needed, they would put me in a nursing home!” And, in my world, many of us are more terrified of nursing homes than we are of morgues, so we say nothing; we just get by.

Or maybe they honestly had no idea that there was any “help” to be had, so what’s to ask? Or maybe it’s pride. Sometimes, it’s even political. But mostly, it’s about fear — and being alone.

So, with no help, things get worse and worse and worse — and where do they end up? Awash in handbaskets.

So what am I suggesting we should do, besides be rich, healthy and live on the first floor of the Waltons’ farmhouse? Fair question. Here’s a fair answer:

1. Plan;

2. Learn who knows about all this “help” stuff, so you can learn what you need to learn;

3. Don’t close the curtains and don’t unplug the phone, because if the only person you’re ever around is you, right now is as smart and happy as you will ever be; and

4. Remember that courage is not the absence of fear.

I often remind people that nobody can put anybody anywhere that they don’t want to be, which means they can’t put you in a nursing home just because you need a little help. And that’s true; the fact is, most of us will never see the inside of a nursing home, unless we go to visit someone or need to be there for short-term rehab. Yes, Alzheimer’s and strokes and whatever else can land some of us in institutions, but for the vast majority of us — no.

And can I absolutely guarantee you that whatever “help” there might be will be exactly the way you want it, when you want it and at the price you like? No.

And can I promise that if you do everything “right,” you won’t die in a less-than-perfect way, at a less-than-perfect time? No. Can you?

So, we’re back to rolling the dice — and having the courage to tell a friend that maybe everything isn’t so swell, or making that phone call, or telling the doctor, or reading that brochure.…

And if everything really is pretty OK? You’re doing all right and you’re pretty much enjoying your life most of the time, and you want to “help”? What do you do?

Be somebody’s friend — and you don’t need a degree in social work to know how to do that.

You know someone who is alone — yes, you do — and maybe they say they want to be alone, so what do you do? Don’t be a social worker, and don’t “rescue” them or tell them what to do, because you wouldn’t take that, either.

Just be a friend. And remember that, if being a friend were easy, everybody would do it.

So, think, plan, learn, prepare and do as much of the “right stuff” as you can, as much as possible — and be sure that your very large family really likes you. It’s up to us to enjoy this ride, so go enjoy it.

And remember that ignorance, isolation and fear all start with “alone.”

Mark Harvey is the director of information and assistance for the Olympic Area Agency on Aging. He can be reached by email at harvemb@dshs.wa.gov; by phone at 360-532-0520 in Aberdeen, 360-942-2177 in Raymond, or 360-642-3634; or through Facebook at Olympic Area Agency on Aging-Information &Assistance.