Most of the Elderly Who Live Alone in Poverty Are Women

In a tiny apartment in a run-down Philadelphia neighborhood, Daisy Thomas lived alone. Pictures crowded the walls of her living room, a memorial to a past life. A copy of the Lord’s Prayer hung above the door. Artificial flowers, faded with age, decorated the coffee table.

A few hundred miles from Daisy’s place, down the coast in Columbia, S.C., 69-year-old Mattie Collins lived in a tired old house on the edge of town. She moved there after being evicted from her apartment 3 months before. Health problems, a son-in-law who stole from her and a string of bad luck drove her into poverty.

Daisy and Mattie represent just two of the 8.3 million older Americans who live alone. More than 40% live at or near the poverty line. Most of the elderly poor receive only enough help from social workers and volunteers to survive--occasional visits from social workers or home health aides, a meal a day from Meals on Wheels or a few dollars’ worth of food stamps.

Elderly women make up 80% of those who live alone. While Social Security and Medicare have helped to halve the poverty rate among senior citizens over the past 25 years, millions remain destitute.

Daisy Thomas and Mattie Collins recently gave a visitor a glimpse into this world.

Daisy’s hands shook and her voice wavered as she spoke about growing old and living alone in a city that she once loved. Her neighborhood, where children once played in the streets, is now home to drugs, poverty and violence.

“Sure, I’m afraid of being robbed. I got my Social Security check stolen right out from under me one day,” she said, her eyes filled with fear, as if the incident had just happened. “I had just cashed my check and that boy grabbed most of it and I never saw him again. Getting old is not for everyone.”

After the robbery--which took place nearly a year ago--she kept the dead-bolts on her front door locked tight.

“When you get robbed, that’s it. Nobody is there to return it to you. You just have to get by on what’s left.”

To her visitor, it seemed hot in her cramped living room, but to Daisy, it still felt cold. Her eyes wandered nervously around the room, reflecting the discomfort she felt having someone there. She didn’t want people to know how poor she really was.

“I hate to ask people for money, but if you get hungry enough, you’ll ask,” she said.

Two days after that conversation, Daisy died, alone in her final moments just as she had been in the final years of her life.

Daisy, who suffered from diabetes, high blood pressure and chronic heart failure, survived on a Social Security check and some food stamps. Not much was left after she paid her rent and utility bills.

And she received little outside help. Underfinanced and short-staffed, the nearby office on aging could only afford to send someone by once every 8 weeks to tell her she was still on the waiting list for a home-care program.

In a deteriorating neighborhood in Columbia, Mattie slowly ate the meal delivered once a day by the local office on aging, pretending not to notice the cockroaches crawling on her TV tray and couch.

“I don’t want to sound like a preacher,” she said quietly, “but people shouldn’t be treated like this. You work hard all your life and then you get to the point where you can’t do it anymore.”

From a wheelchair in her cold, empty living room, she told of being evicted by her last landlord without even a chance to move her belongings.

“They threw away all of my things,” she said. “My baby pictures, clothes, washing machine. Everything went out on the trash pile. What wasn’t stolen got ruined in the rain.”

Worse, the grandson that she loved and cared for was recently taken away by the social services department. Just barely able to take care of herself, she could not take care of the child. Noting that her daughter was too poor to care for him herself, Mattie said, “That boy has been my life.”

Mattie has been hit hard with health problems in recent years. Two strokes, four heart attacks, arthritis, kidney disease and respiratory problems have left her nearly helpless. Dentures are not covered by Medicare, so she does without.

Her sole support comes from a monthly Social Security check and food stamps. With that, she manages to give some money to her daughter, who lives nearby. A social worker stops by occasionally to update her file.

Asked how she gets by, Mattie smiled and said, “It takes a lot of strength.”