The Security Money Can’t Buy

It was my mother’s birthday, so I placed some flowers on her grave. I learned a lot about growing old from taking care of her.

When I was planning for retirement, I was mostly concerned about having enough money and how I was going to stay busy. But after spending time with my mother, I realized there was something more important—or at least just as important.

It was companionship.

I learned from my mother that no matter how many people you have in your life, the world can still be a lonely and uneasy place when you lose your spouse or partner.

Even though I spent countless hours with her, I eventually realized that no one could make her feel as safe as my father did.

There was an emotional void in my mother’s life. It was the bond with my father that was missing. Without him, her world felt unfamiliar and uneasy.

At the time, I couldn’t fully understand why she felt that way. I do now. My greatest fear in retirement isn’t running out of money or even a cancer diagnosis; it’s losing my wife.

I don’t know what I would do if I lost Rachel. Like my mother, I know I would have a difficult time adjusting to a new life without my wife.

Although I would be financially secure, it wouldn’t be the same thing as feeling secure. Rachel provides a kind of emotional security that money can’t buy.

She provides companionship, familiarity, confidence, and the feeling that I’m not facing the world alone. These things don’t show up on a financial statement. That’s because financial security is about what you have. Feeling secure is about how you experience your life.

I’m six years older than my wife. The odds are that I’ll die before her. I’ve tried to make life easier for her without me. I hired a financial advisor to help her manage our investment portfolio. He can run Monte Carlo simulations to ensure our portfolio outlasts her life, but there is no financial model or asset allocation that hedges against the emotional volatility of losing your spouse.

I also try to encourage Rachel to spend more time with her friends. She is going on a three-week trip with her sister and a friend. I’m excited for her because I think it would do her good to get away without me once in a while.

Still, it would be hard to prepare for the loss of a loved one.

You can prepare someone financially, but how do you prepare them for the loss of emotional security? It’s the small things we share in our lives—the walks around the neighborhood, watching a movie, and eating out—that are hard to replace.

We go to the same restaurant once a week. Everyone there knows us. If something happened to Rachel, it would be hard to go there again because it wouldn’t be the same without her.

But I also know that avoiding the restaurant wouldn’t help. At some point, I would have to return. The same would be true of the walks, the movies, the routines, and all the other ordinary things that make up a shared life.

When we’re traveling, I often see older women traveling together, but rarely see men. I’ve noticed that women often seem to have stronger networks of friends and family to rely on after losing a spouse.

Men can be different. Many of us rely heavily on our wives for our social and emotional lives.

I know it wouldn’t be easy because many of my close friends are gone. Three of the four high school friends I was very close to have passed away. Leo, my fishing and camping buddy, is also gone.

Money can protect you from some problems. It can buy better healthcare, a safer home, assistance with daily tasks, or the freedom to stop working. But it can’t guarantee health, companionship, or a long life with your spouse.

My mother taught me that true retirement security is built on human connection, and that the greatest asset in anyone’s life is the person sharing it with them.

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