This article is reprinted by permission from NextAvenue.org.

My widowed mother was left with debts and a bare bank account. So, she married an older man she thought wealthy. “I don’t want to be a burden to my kids,” she said.

Remarriage is not my goal, but I’m in the same boat as Mom. And mine is sinking.

In a little over a year, my retirement funds will be gone. My only income will be Social Security.

Fortunately, I have two adult children who have pledged to support me. But does that require them to sustain me in a posh high-rise? Do they have to pay the membership of my tony health club?

But more important, how do I handle my shame?

It’s not my children who are placing this shroud around my aging neck. They are proud of their ability to step in. The cloud hovers only over me.

This is what I can’t understand. I have always worked. I taught grammar school prior to my first marriage in 1960. I worked for a major real-estate company. I was a press aide for Chicago Mayor Jane Byrne and School Superintendent Ruth Love. A big city mayor! A system of 649 schools and 341,382 students.

I am not without credentials. But evidently, I am diminished by a severe planning deficit. And the solution selected by my late dear mother holds no appeal.