Many people assume that cities fund most older adult services. In reality, they do not.

Programs like Meals on Wheels, caregiver support, transportation assistance, home safety modifications, and senior protection usually begin with federal funding, and then flow through the State of California, who then sends it to the county level where grants are awarded to nonprofits and other service providers to run the programs.

Federal, state, and county funds never fully cover the cost of services. States and counties supplement with general funds. The nonprofits providing services run fundraisers, write grants, and solicit donations to cover the gaps. Cities typically contribute only small supplemental grants.

That structure matters, because when funding is disrupted anywhere along that chain, the effects quietly appear in our local neighborhoods.

Not long ago, Emelia, a local widow in her early eighties, called after a bad fall in her kitchen. She lives alone, was very anxious about her situation, and could no longer stand long enough to prepare meals.

Within days, she received Meals on Wheels, had grab bars installed through a home-modification grant, and was connected to caregiver support. Today, she is still safely living in the home she loves.

Without those services, she likely would have ended up in the emergency room and possibly in a facility. The line between independence and crisis is thin, and support at home made all the difference.

Right now, the aging-services system that quietly supports people like Emilia is under strain. Federal budgets are tight. State finances are uncertain. And locally, Ventura County is considering changes that could significantly affect how aging services are coordinated.

These decisions can feel far away and administrative, yet their impact is deeply personal.

When seniors lose access to meals, transportation, caregiver respite, or basic home safety support, the results are predictable—more falls, more emergency room visits, more hospital stays, and earlier placement in costly care settings. What often seems like saving money in the moment can end up costing far more, both financially and emotionally.

There is also a quieter shift happening in our community: the rise of “solo agers,” older adults who are widowed, divorced, childless, or estranged from family. The majority of solo agers are women.

When unable to speak for themselves, decisions fall to hospitals, courts, and public systems. As part of the Clinical Ethics Advisory Committee of Los Robles Regional Medical Center, I see this firsthand. Unrepresented older adults, who arrive at the hospital unable to communicate their wishes, need decisions made on their medical care. The committee helps ensure decisions are made thoughtfully, ethically, and with the patient’s dignity at the center.

Solo agers like Emilia are among the fastest growing and most vulnerable groups of older adults, and they depend heavily on the same network of services that is now being stretched.

Funding decisions occur at many levels. Congress determines the largest funding streams. State leaders shape how those dollars are distributed in California. County leaders influence how services operate locally. Cities often help where they can. It is a complicated system, but one built around a simple purpose: helping people grow older with dignity, safety, and connection.

None of us is untouched by aging. We are all caring for someone, will care for someone, or will one day need care ourselves.

Aging belongs to all of us. And the way we choose to support older adults today quietly shapes the kind of community we become tomorrow.

Behind every policy discussion is a neighbor, a parent, a spouse, or a friend—hoping not just to live longer, but to live well.