There’s nothing that quite underscores the reality of middle age as a breakfast conversation about the Fair Deal nursing home plan, which is exactly what consumed the annual reunion of college friends. Previously, the morning talk had revolved around tantalizing scandals, extravagant holiday plans, and complicated love stories. However, this time, pondering over the care for elderly parents and understanding the legalities of power of attorney had taken centre stage.
Maybe in our fight against the unavoidable specter of ageing, we should take inspiration from the life of Elizabeth Carson, originally Elizabeth Newell from Belfast, who evaded the nursing home debate by making her home address somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.
Her remarkable journey started in 1864 upon the death of her husband, Samuel. She resolved to undertake her maiden sea journey, traversing the vast Atlantic Ocean with her daughter to pay her brother a visit in Tennessee. Her brother, William B Newell, had become a millionaire and was settled in Nashville.
Heeding her brother’s counsel, she chose to stay on in the US. After his passing, she inherited $500,000 from him, which would equate to almost $12 million in today’s terms. Not long after, Mrs Carson embarked on solo travel, returning to Belfast for a short visit while leaving her daughter in their friends’ care. From then on her transatlantic journeys became incessant, with estimations suggesting she made roughly 250 such trips.
Post her daughter’s marriage to Julius Rohrbach from Chicago in 1883, she amplified her journeying, spending nearly all her time at sea. The Cunard’s Lucania cruise ship became her preferred mode of transport, making her somewhat of a celebrity amongst the crew and frequent passengers. She had the privilege of dining with elite families like the Vanderbilts and the Astors, and also formed a friendship with the renowned soprano Adelina Patti, who gifted her a bunch of roses grown in her own garden.
In the early 1890s, Elizabeth Carson’s offspring became increasingly concerned about the rapid depletion of their anticipated inheritance. Julius Rohrbach, her son-in-law, took the matter to court when his mother-in-law visited them in Chicago, seeking a legal guardian to regulate her excessive spending. According to his court testimony, she had already exhausted $250,000 of her wealth, and he feared she would squander the rest if not checked.
Mrs Carson, known for her formidable character, would not be swayed. Threatening to disown her son-in-law if he persisted with what she deemed ludicrous, she returned to her oceanic residence tirelessly.
Fast forwarding to December 1896, Mrs Carson fell ill with pneumonia during her final Atlantic crossing and passed away in Anamosa, Iowa, five weeks later. She was 74. This information came to light courtesy of the Chicago Tribune archives, which Cunard’s historians generously divulged. The newspaper had featured her demise on the front page in January 1897, adding that the flag on the Lucania would fly at half-mast during its following journey to honour this “extraordinary woman”.
The fact that a Belfast lady spent her twilight years aboard a cruise ship demonstrates her foresight. The Chicago Tribune dramatically reported her last moments, saying, “She softly spoke of the glowing red rays mingling with the deep green waves. Suddenly, elevating herself partially, she wore a radiant smile and whispered ‘The sea! The sea’, before sinking back onto her pillow and departed into the infinite, symbolic of the sea itself.”
Even after her passing, Elizabeth Carson continued to surprise. The much-anticipated unveiling of her will revealed a shocking twist: Shortly after her son-in-law’s unsuccessful court case, she had travelled to Belfast to revise her will, leaving a mere $1,000 to her daughter. She bequeathed a staggering $200,000 to the crew of the Lucania, $50,000 of which was reserved for the ship’s captain.
It’s undeniable that the lady from Belfast was truly progressive. Consider this – passing one’s twilight years aboard a cruise ship? Various medical facilities are readily available for your use. You have the liberty to choose between healthy and unhealthy meals. Engage in daily swimming sessions and indulge in nightly dance parties. If the person living next door isn’t to your liking, fret not. They will depart in seven days.
Nursing homes are struggling to meet the overwhelming demand, therefore I bring forth an unpretentious suggestion to the numerically occupied bureaucrats in the Department of Finance: It’s time the Fair Deal scheme was extended to cruise ships.
Think about it, what sounds more appealing? Utilising your house as equity to finance your stay in a nursing home where the pinnacle of excitement peaks at someone accidentally dropping a knitting needle as they nod off? Or savouring Mimosas during your breakfast on a deck bathed in sunlight?
I rest my argument.