My neighbor, Henry, lived in his little bungalow for nearly 50 years. He and his wife had raised a son in that home. Eventually, the grown son moved across the country. Henry’s wife died. Henry’s son wanted him to move to a place where he’d have company and help when he needed it. A place where he’d be safe and have friends.

Henry would have none of it. He was going to stay in his own home, in his own neighborhood. None of those new-fangled assisted living places where there’s no privacy. He liked his neighborhood where he’d lived for half a century. The trouble was, the neighborhood was no longer the same neighborhood.

Henry was the only person there who was a long-term resident. His old neighbors had moved to be closer to kids, or chose assisted living, or needed a nursing home or – died.

But Henry wasn’t budging. He’d watch TV during the day, or at least have it turned on “for company.”  He’d doze in his chair most of the day and then not sleep at night.

He’d make a meal when he felt like it, though once he left the water running all night, the sink was stopped up, and the kitchen flooded. Then there was the time he left the stove on and the house got all smoked up. "Almost a fire, but we didn’t have one," he would say with a  laugh. There was something a little frightened in his laugh, however, as he explained away the incident.

He ate cereal a lot. Sometimes several times a day. He lost weight. He was supposed to take a couple of medications, but he lost track of time, so he either took them when he felt like it or neglected them all together.

His son tried in-home care, but Henry locked the caregivers out of the house. Finally, his son insisted. Henry was dragged, kicking and screaming, into an assisted living center near his old neighborhood. Who did he find there? Why, it was old Ernie, his poker partner. He and Ernie had lost touch, as Henry didn’t hear well on the phone, and besides, he figured Ernie had sort of betrayed him by moving out of the neighborhood.

Gradually, Henry’s anger melted away. He ate well. He made friends. He gained weight and took his medication right. Much of his improved health was due to social connections. It wasn’t long before he was telling people that moving to the center was his choice. “Too bad the kid fought it so,” he’d say. His son, a man of good humor, laughed that off. He was just relieved that Dad was in a good place and having fun.

Some people are a perfect fit for assisted living, and, though it took some doing to get him there, Henry is one of them. So, how do people decide that assisted living is the right option? As with in-home care, adult day services and nursing homes, there are questions to ask and choices to be made.

Q. Is the elder lonely, even though he or she may not admit it?