The kettle steams to a boil as she spreads butter and vegemite on dry biscuits. The kitchen clock's monotonous tick reminds her how slowly the hours pass.

She shuffles to the dining table and reaches for the remote. Her eyes become fixed on a reality TV show she doesn't particularly like.

Morning tea is different nowadays. More time-killer than treat.

Eighty-two-year-old Georgina Fitz-Gibbon became a widow when her husband, Jeff, died from dementia.

Jeff and Georgina Fitz-Gibbon on their wedding day. ( Supplied: Georgina Fitz-Gibbon )

She recalls in her still-thick Scottish accent how they met in Melbourne, where she'd moved as a wide-eyed young woman in her twenties.

During their 57-year marriage they raised two adoring daughters. But the couple didn't have a wide circle of friends because they were content with each other's company.

"We didn't have hobbies as such. We were just good mates and we were just enough, just the two of us," she smiles.

Two years on from her husband's death, she's only just got used to making morning tea for one.

"You'd go to make the cup of tea and quite often, I'd take out two cups. Everything was done for two, and that continued for a few months."

Georgina was always a strong and capable woman — devoted to her husband yet happy in her own company.

She was used to managing alone because of the weeks he spent on the road as a long-haul truck driver.

But as he aged and his health failed, she provided constant care. Eventually the load became too burdensome, and he was moved into a nursing home.

Those years were emotionally draining, but she was distracted by a long list of responsibilities: washing, cooking, caring, visiting, chatting, reading, cleaning. Coping was also possible because he was still by her side.

Then all of a sudden he was gone and her routine was shattered, her days empty.

She felt helpless and for the first time in her life. Georgina was lonely.

"I was waiting for God," she weeps.

'Every day you think about killing yourself'

Loneliness doesn't discriminate when it comes to gender. Ron Etchells' wife also died two years ago and he's been lonely ever since.

"Every day you think about killing yourself, just to get away from the nothing. Because that's what it is: nothing," he says flatly.

Ron Etchells says he thinks every day about ending his life, to escape from the "nothing" of loneliness. ( ABC News: Nick Haggarty )

His relationship with the rest of his family had previously broken down, and he says he hasn't heard from them in years.

"Every day you say, 'Well you might as well wait until you die'. And the next day you want to kill yourself again."

It's a staggering fact, but data from the Australian Bureau of Statistics shows that men over the age of 85 have the highest suicide rate in Australia.

Loneliness is contributing to that, but feelings of despair can often start much earlier. They can be triggered by the loss of a loved one or a divorce.

But it could be as simple, yet frustrating, as losing a driver's licence or being unable to exercise.

Today's over-65s lived through decades of productivity, potential and promise.

As prosperity reigned, they built and bought big homes with quintessential backyards kitted with sprinklers for the summer months.

But the generational clock has ticked over with consequences: a bulging population which governments are still struggling to manage, and no clear plan to combat the social problems older people now face.

The highest rate of suicide in Australia is amongst men over the age of 85. ( ABC News: Lucy Barbour )

Do we need a Minister for Loneliness?

Federal Aged Care Minister Ken Wyatt has seen the effects of loneliness, particularly on men, first-hand.

"I used to work for a funeral parlour in Perth. I lived in the flat above and when we buried a wife, I invariably saw the husband buried about eight weeks later," he says.

In the United Kingdom, policy-makers became so concerned about the health ramifications of social isolation, they appointed a Minister for Loneliness earlier this year.

But Mr Wyatt believes a better solution lies in our own backyard.

"What I'm hoping is that we start a movement across this nation where we take note of people who don't have company and we just drop in and say, 'Hey, would you like a cup of tea?'"

Some older Australians are listening to that advice, and they're finding ways to prevent loneliness before it's too late.

Barbara Collins cares for her husband, Leo, who suffers from dementia and cancer. ( ABC News: Lucy Barbour )

Barbara and Leo Collins celebrated their diamond wedding anniversary last year and love nothing more than poring over the letters of acknowledgement they received from high places — the palace, the premier and the former prime minister.

They know they're lucky to still have each other, but they recognise that things could change any day.

Barbara is virtually a full-time carer for Leo, who suffers from cancer and dementia.

"By six o'clock, I've had it!" she laughs affectionately.

They've made sure to keep in touch with a wide circle of friends, and they've kept their family close.

But Barbara was worried that Leo needed more male company, and she, in turn, needed a break.

"Unfortunately his friends have passed away, and that hasn't been easy," she explains.

Leo was eligible for one of the Federal Government's Home Care packages, and an organisation called The Care List got in touch to help.

He now has frequent visits from a care worker named Darrell Avery, who takes him out to do odd jobs such as banking, getting a haircut or going to medical appointments.

Leo Collins (right) regularly meets with Darrell, who takes him out to do odd jobs or just catch up for coffee. ( ABC News: Lucy Barbour )

Sometimes the pair just head down to the local cafe to have a flat white and a chat.

"Leo just seems to brighten up. He enjoys other company," Barbara says.

'We cry together and we laugh together'

But the hardest step for many elderly people is acknowledging they need help in the first place.

Despite her loving, supportive family, it was months after Georgina's husband died before she recognised she was fast slipping into a state of depression.

She was gently encouraged by her daughters to seek out new activities, but the realisation had to come from within, and when she felt ready.

"I found myself one Tuesday, sitting here and crying my eyes out," she recalls.

"And I said to myself, 'Yeah, this is the time. I've got to do something'."

She remembered seeing an advertisement at the nearby shopping complex, for a seniors program run through Communities At Work. Eventually, she plucked up the courage and knocked on the door.

Georgina Fitz-Gibbon spends two days a week with her new friends at a seniors program run by Communities At Work. ( ABC News: Nick Haggarty )

Joining the program felt daunting but once she did, she was overwhelmed by support and fun.

She now spends two days a week with her new-found friends, doing everything from exercises and massage to cooking, craft and card-playing.

"We cry together sometimes and we laugh together a lot," she smiles fondly.

"And for me personally, my health has improved beyond my wildest dreams."

In the lead-up to Jeff's death, and in the aftermath, Georgina had allowed her health to deteriorate.

She hadn't had the time to look after herself properly, and while grieving, she didn't have the will or the energy.

But nowadays, she says, she's "mentally, physically and emotionally on top of the world".

She's learnt a valuable and important lesson, which she hopes others who are struggling will wake up to: "Loneliness can be very, very dangerous."

But she's living proof that good company can be a lifesaver.