Recently, the Office for National statistics released a report on the happiness of our nation's population. Apparently, those who were newly retired measured the most satisfaction with their lives. I am not surprised, as the first days of my retirement felt as if I had run and won a marathon. For me, however, the initial euphoria at having escaped the tyranny of employment evaporated when I was tasked with finding meaning and dignity in the last season of my life.

For most of my existence the concept of retirement was a goalpost that was too far down the field for me to worry about. After all, my boyhood was spent on dismal streets of terrace houses that stretched to the edge of forever and no one seemed to live past the age of 60. For those lucky enough to reach retirement, their days of idleness were as brief as their infancy. It is little wonder that, considering I started to earn my keep as a beer barrowboy at the age of seven, I was thankful to have survived to my retirement age. Nevertheless, when I turned 65, I eagerly embraced my emancipation from my employer's time clock. My wife and I sold our house in the city and we escaped to a small country village.

During those first months of rest, my wife and I drank wine and watched the evening sun set over our hedgerow. We were happy and content. Had the ONS contacted me about my emotional state of my mind, I would have told them that it was the first time I had ever felt at ease in my life, but it was short-lived. Happiness, like everything else, has an expiry date, and it is best to savour it before it goes stale.

Eighteen months after I retired, my golden years began to turn to brass when my wife became severely ill with rheumatoid arthritis. Before my wife's illness, I never gave much thought to chronic diseases. However, after her diagnosis, it became my occupation to know everything about her ailment because I was her caregiver during her excruciating decline. We coped as best as we could: we joined support groups and tried to keep our spirits high with laughter and heartfelt discussions. But as the years progressed, my wife's strength weakened because the drugs fighting her rheumatoid arthritis were irreparably damaging her heart and organs. We tried not to give in to despair, because throughout our relationship we had enjoyed life and lived for the moment. Both of us understood the fragility of life because we had lived through the great calamities of the 20th century.

It was only when I turned 70 and my middle son was diagnosed with schizophrenia that I thought our family had been dealt with unfairly by fate. His doctors recommended that he live with us as it was a safe environment for him to come to terms with his mental illness. So we brought him home and I became carer to both my wife and son. Through the physical illness of my wife and the mental illness of my son, I discovered that retirement was more complex and demanding than middle age had ever been for me.

In fact, old age almost overwhelmed me when my wife died. My grief over her death was intense because we had shared an ocean of time and experience together. My first few years as a widower were insufferable and agonising. For months, I stumbled through my days anaesthetised by tranquillisers that dulled the bark from Churchill's black dog of depression. The medicine eased my torment but the dog would not be silenced because my emotional pain went beyond grief over the loss of my wife. I didn't understand it at the time but my wife's death had unleashed post-traumatic stress disorder. I was suffering from the trauma of surviving a threadbare childhood during the Great Depression and the horrors of the second world war. With the help and support of my children and my doctor, I was able to grapple with my despondency and I slowly recovered from the scars of a hard-fought life.

What one expects from retirement is different for everyone because we are unique creatures. Yet all of us must realise that we are on a journey, from the moment we are born until the day we die. The final stage in our lives should be treated like all the other episodes in our brief existence – as an adventure filled with discovery, joy, wonder, sorrow and bliss.

Everyone's retirement will be filled with trial and tribulation because death is awaiting us. How we overcome those tests of our physical and mental health depends not only upon our own resilience but on getting support from our family, friends and our government. It is absolutely right that the citizens of Britain deserve a dignified retirement. For that to continue, our government must pledge to preserve and maintain a safety net that provides an assured state pension, affordable housing, and first-class healthcare for its elderly citizens.