It is a quiet day at the office today.
Actually, it’s a quiet day in the whole building. Not that it’s always a rip roaring party all the time, but there is usually a sense of relief and a certain giddiness in the office the day after our annual OHFA inspection goes well and the residents are usually roaming around on Fridays, chatting, coming and going in preparation for the weekend, getting their hair done at the beauty shop next to the office. The smell of perms is normally pervasive. Not so much today.
Today, or at least this morning, it is quiet.
You see … there’s a funeral being held at the church next door this morning.
A funeral for a resident who passed away in the wee hours of Wednesday morning or, as her son so eloquently put it ... “One moment she was sleeping peacefully, the next moment she went Home.”
It’s easy to think of her there … in heaven … her jubilation in being reunited with her husband who had gone to wait for her 20 years ago, in the presence of her dear Lord.
For the purposes of this little blog … we’ll call her Mrs. W.
Mrs. W. would have been the first to tell you she was just a country gal. She was 98 years old and, although in recent years her sight had failed and, even more recently, her health had slipped, through the assistance of a large and loving family, she had remained independent in the little apartment in our building she had called home the last 16 years. She loved the life of a resident and embraced the activities with enthusiasm. She never failed, unless sick, to be right in the front row when the 1st & 2nd graders from the school across the street came to give our residents a Christmas concert. She enjoyed the community feeling of the potluck dinners, baking cornbread for her friends, and going up to do exercises with the group that gathered three times a week. She thrilled each spring when the “4 O’Clocks” would bloom outside the exit door by her apartment. (I don’t know the actual name of this bush of flowers. Mrs. W. called them 4 O’Clocks and that is good enough for me.)
One of the ten remaining residents that were here when I began working at the Village, Mrs. W. would walk the halls of our building with a cheerful smile and a greeting for any that she met. When asked how she was doing, her standard response was that she was doing okay … “until someone tells me different”. Respectful of the office and the work being done, she would always have a smile and greeting, yet never stayed to chat unless one of us initiated the conversation. Even when her sight had failed, she would always smile and wave as she passed by … never certain anyone was in the office to see, but not wanting to pass by and seem rude.
As memory and hearing also began to fail, she began to stop a bit more frequently by the window … inquiring as to the day of the week and if there were any activities on the calendar. After getting a response, she would give thanks for the information with a big smile and exclaim that waking up always seemed to bring a new and different day. A happy smile, a boisterous laugh, and a wicked sense of humor … three things I admire and she had them in spades.
Mrs. W. was a simple, gracious lady who’s favorite activities included feeding people and sharing stories of her three children or multiple grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Nothing delighted her more than when one or more of them would stop by for a visit with “mom” or “granny”. She took great pride in them and their accomplishments but was never boastful.
It’s difficult to think that she is gone. Her little corner apartment where, before her sight left and cooking became difficult, the staff had been invited several times to share a tasty lunch and lively conversation, will soon be rented to someone new … someone different … someone who won’t call me “Shug” and check on the 4 O’Clocks in the spring. That’s the hard part.
The easy part is imagining her in heaven … setting a table for family and friends and inviting them to come and eat before it gets cold, as she keeps an eye from above on those kids and grandkids and great-grandkids, not to mention the rest of us.
Yep. It’s a quiet morning today. The halls are silent and the conversations are muted but I’m doing okay … at least until someone tells me different.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Friday, May 15, 2009
20 Days ... Records Set ... Events Occured ... Discoveries Made
Last night on the news, the weatherman advised that we had set a new record ... 20 continuous days of rain, effectively beating the previous record of 13 days. Now, granted, there have been - few and far between - spots of sunshine during these past twenty days. There have been actual hours where no rain has fallen. It has not been a continuous flooding rain for the past 480 hours. We have had days which began with sunshine and ended in storms or vice versa. We have had days of continual light misting rain. We have had storms rage continually throughout the day. However the method ... the result has been the same ... at some point during the last twenty days, rain has fallen on each of them and a new record has thus been set. Now, for some reason known only to the insanity of my mind, when I heard this news, I began thinking about the last twenty record-breaking days and realized that, while I personally haven't exactly set any major records, the last twenty days have been fairly momentous in my life. Events have occurred and discoveries have been made, prompting me to share some of them here ... in my own little ramble room.
Anniversaries are considered to be momentous occasions. The larger the number ... the greater the occasion. Right? I mean ... 25th & 50th anniversaries are celebrated with silver and gold respectively, thus indicating that their achievement is to be valued. Although it wasn’t a silver or gold anniversary, May 3, 2009 commemorated a special date for me. As of that date I had been employed by my company for ten years.
I have to say, I'm rather proud of that achievement. Since beginning my employment availability at the tender age of 16 *mumblemumble* years ago ... we won't count the number of previous years of babysitting ... 10 years is the longest length of time I have been employed with a single company, thus breaking my previous record of 7.5 years at Avis Rent-a-Car. With today's economy such as it is, I am grateful for my job, yet there's more to it than just being grateful for being employed.
This job is something that came about after I had been laid off from a previous employer and without work for four months. At the time I remember thinking it was a "God thing", my coming to this place at just the right time with the ability to utilize all the skills I had gained over the years. I have since realized that this job truly is a "God thing" for I have been blessed over and over by it ... by the people who have come and gone throughout the years and whose lives have touched mine. Yes, there have been bad days ... gray days ... frustratingly aggravating black storm ridden days ... yet it always seems that even in the midst of my most infuriating times, something would occur - a short note ... a grateful smile ... a quiet comment - that renewed my faith that this position was the right one for me and that it truly continues to be a "God Thing".
My ten years was celebrated by the arrival of a truly spectacular arrangement of flowers, sent to me at my office from the president & vice-president of our management company. An array of tulips, hydrangea blooms, lilies, snapdragons, and other assorted bright spring flowers entwined with eucalyptus and greenery, it was breathtaking in its beauty. This morning ... eleven days later ... as I was removing some of the withering stems, I found the bud of a single remaining lily just beginning to open its petals ... a burst of new life and beauty amidst the faded blooms.
Perhaps it's not a record but it was definitely a reminder that beauty continues even when we believe life around us is gray and dreary … like when you’re in the midst of 20 days of rain.
During these twenty days I have also discovered that I will never – EVER - become a narcotic junkie. Seriously. I couldn’t even begin to deal with the constipation, a side effect that comes with regular usage.
‘Nuff said.
*grins*
I discovered this fact during the last twenty days when, for the first time in my *mumblemumble* years, I actually injured myself in such a way as to require my physician to prescribe pain medication heavier than anything I’d ever used previously. As a single female these *mumblemumble* years, I have discovered that when all is said and done, reliance has to be on one’s self when certain events occur. Family is paramount and friends are blessings, but when you are home alone and you fall in the shower, there’s only one person to rinse you off and then clean up the sudsy mess on the bathroom floor. (BTW … that actually did happen about 4 years ago over the July 4th weekend and … again … we’re gonna go with ‘nuff said on that.)
Therefore, when I twisted my knee getting out of my car one evening after work, I thought nothing more of it than a simple twist … a sprain. They happen. You alternate heat with cold and keep it propped. Ibuprofen works great to take the edge off. A few days later you are walking like nothing occurred. In the meantime, there’s only one person to do the laundry … one person to stop at the grocery store and cook the meals … one person to clean up the kitchen and so on and so forth. So, this single female continued business as usual. The event of a twisted knee would pass.
Except … this time … it didn’t.
Still … seeing as doctors are not my favorite people … (my apologies to the medical profession but its true) … I’ll confess … I delayed. For those of us that have achieved the ripe age of *mumblemumble* years, we understand that continual rain has a tendency to seep into our bones and joints, causing a certain amount of aches and pains. Move a bit slower, stick with the heat because it feels better on the propped knee, pop some extra ibuprofen … everything is fine.
Except ... this time ... it wasn’t.
After a week of rain and of … I’m going with the word “discomfort” here … it was time to seek a doctor’s attention.
Blech.
Events have since unfolded amidst the raindrops and storms, and I have been indoctrinated into the medical profession’s game of “Hurry up … no … wait!” With urgency I was sent for an MRI and given a diagnosis. With waiting I have been turned over to an orthopedic specialist. With urgency I have been given details of pending surgery. With waiting I have been given specific instructions not to walk, keep the knee propped and … did I mention the narcotics??? Events have since unfolded and yet, I am still the same single girl who fell in the shower. There is, still, just me to do the rinsing off and the cleaning up ... or ... in this case, the daily chores of life. Yet with the storms … after the raindrops … there’s always God’s rainbow and my rainbows these last 20 days may not have set records, however they did remind me that blessings … like rainbows are there to be discovered.
Whether it was a pair of supporting parents, an adopted Auntie, a couple of caring co-workers, a crazed friend, a simple note, a late night phone call, a load of laundry, a bag of groceries, a hug - in person or through cyberspace ... all of them worked together to remind this single female that while she is alone ... she is never truly alone.
Yep ... events have a way of happening. Big and momentous like a thunderstorm rolling across the plains (or through your neighborhood) they rumble through your life. Along with the events come the discoveries, gentler like the continuing mist or light showers after the storm, but no less awe inspiring in the rainbows they leave.
Yep ... it's been twenty days of rain here. And according to the weatherman ... that record is soon to be broken as rain is anticipated in the form of a huge honking storm coming through.
Tonight.
Making it twenty-one days of rain.
Wonder if there's another event fixing to unfurl itself in my life?
Anniversaries are considered to be momentous occasions. The larger the number ... the greater the occasion. Right? I mean ... 25th & 50th anniversaries are celebrated with silver and gold respectively, thus indicating that their achievement is to be valued. Although it wasn’t a silver or gold anniversary, May 3, 2009 commemorated a special date for me. As of that date I had been employed by my company for ten years.
I have to say, I'm rather proud of that achievement. Since beginning my employment availability at the tender age of 16 *mumblemumble* years ago ... we won't count the number of previous years of babysitting ... 10 years is the longest length of time I have been employed with a single company, thus breaking my previous record of 7.5 years at Avis Rent-a-Car. With today's economy such as it is, I am grateful for my job, yet there's more to it than just being grateful for being employed.
This job is something that came about after I had been laid off from a previous employer and without work for four months. At the time I remember thinking it was a "God thing", my coming to this place at just the right time with the ability to utilize all the skills I had gained over the years. I have since realized that this job truly is a "God thing" for I have been blessed over and over by it ... by the people who have come and gone throughout the years and whose lives have touched mine. Yes, there have been bad days ... gray days ... frustratingly aggravating black storm ridden days ... yet it always seems that even in the midst of my most infuriating times, something would occur - a short note ... a grateful smile ... a quiet comment - that renewed my faith that this position was the right one for me and that it truly continues to be a "God Thing".
My ten years was celebrated by the arrival of a truly spectacular arrangement of flowers, sent to me at my office from the president & vice-president of our management company. An array of tulips, hydrangea blooms, lilies, snapdragons, and other assorted bright spring flowers entwined with eucalyptus and greenery, it was breathtaking in its beauty. This morning ... eleven days later ... as I was removing some of the withering stems, I found the bud of a single remaining lily just beginning to open its petals ... a burst of new life and beauty amidst the faded blooms.
Perhaps it's not a record but it was definitely a reminder that beauty continues even when we believe life around us is gray and dreary … like when you’re in the midst of 20 days of rain.
During these twenty days I have also discovered that I will never – EVER - become a narcotic junkie. Seriously. I couldn’t even begin to deal with the constipation, a side effect that comes with regular usage.
‘Nuff said.
*grins*
I discovered this fact during the last twenty days when, for the first time in my *mumblemumble* years, I actually injured myself in such a way as to require my physician to prescribe pain medication heavier than anything I’d ever used previously. As a single female these *mumblemumble* years, I have discovered that when all is said and done, reliance has to be on one’s self when certain events occur. Family is paramount and friends are blessings, but when you are home alone and you fall in the shower, there’s only one person to rinse you off and then clean up the sudsy mess on the bathroom floor. (BTW … that actually did happen about 4 years ago over the July 4th weekend and … again … we’re gonna go with ‘nuff said on that.)
Therefore, when I twisted my knee getting out of my car one evening after work, I thought nothing more of it than a simple twist … a sprain. They happen. You alternate heat with cold and keep it propped. Ibuprofen works great to take the edge off. A few days later you are walking like nothing occurred. In the meantime, there’s only one person to do the laundry … one person to stop at the grocery store and cook the meals … one person to clean up the kitchen and so on and so forth. So, this single female continued business as usual. The event of a twisted knee would pass.
Except … this time … it didn’t.
Still … seeing as doctors are not my favorite people … (my apologies to the medical profession but its true) … I’ll confess … I delayed. For those of us that have achieved the ripe age of *mumblemumble* years, we understand that continual rain has a tendency to seep into our bones and joints, causing a certain amount of aches and pains. Move a bit slower, stick with the heat because it feels better on the propped knee, pop some extra ibuprofen … everything is fine.
Except ... this time ... it wasn’t.
After a week of rain and of … I’m going with the word “discomfort” here … it was time to seek a doctor’s attention.
Blech.
Events have since unfolded amidst the raindrops and storms, and I have been indoctrinated into the medical profession’s game of “Hurry up … no … wait!” With urgency I was sent for an MRI and given a diagnosis. With waiting I have been turned over to an orthopedic specialist. With urgency I have been given details of pending surgery. With waiting I have been given specific instructions not to walk, keep the knee propped and … did I mention the narcotics??? Events have since unfolded and yet, I am still the same single girl who fell in the shower. There is, still, just me to do the rinsing off and the cleaning up ... or ... in this case, the daily chores of life. Yet with the storms … after the raindrops … there’s always God’s rainbow and my rainbows these last 20 days may not have set records, however they did remind me that blessings … like rainbows are there to be discovered.
Whether it was a pair of supporting parents, an adopted Auntie, a couple of caring co-workers, a crazed friend, a simple note, a late night phone call, a load of laundry, a bag of groceries, a hug - in person or through cyberspace ... all of them worked together to remind this single female that while she is alone ... she is never truly alone.
Yep ... events have a way of happening. Big and momentous like a thunderstorm rolling across the plains (or through your neighborhood) they rumble through your life. Along with the events come the discoveries, gentler like the continuing mist or light showers after the storm, but no less awe inspiring in the rainbows they leave.
Yep ... it's been twenty days of rain here. And according to the weatherman ... that record is soon to be broken as rain is anticipated in the form of a huge honking storm coming through.
Tonight.
Making it twenty-one days of rain.
Wonder if there's another event fixing to unfurl itself in my life?
Monday, December 1, 2008
Chocolate Sorrow
Monday morning's aren't so bad.
Not after having a lovely four day weekend spending quality time with family.
Not after having a relaxing Sunday evening at home because no evening church services means no nursery obligations.
Not after having a chance to get an extra half hour of sleep because the girlies are out of school.
Yep, although the day began with gray clouds and the drive to work included equal parts of rainy mist and spitting snowflakes, I was having a good morning.
The hair ... the make up ... the wardrobe ... everything seemed to come together this morning.
I had time for my tea and for my breakfast before heading (not rushing) out the door. Traffic flowed well and the music playing was good.
I was ready to face the day.
I knew it would be busy. It always is when we have had the office closed for more than a weekend. I was ready.
I was ready for 96 questions about how was my weekend, my Thanksgiving, etc.
I was ready for 96 exclamations over the new onslaught of cold and was I responsible questions. (For those who may not remember, I am evidently responsible for the weather that afflicts our residents.)
I was ready to find out that our boiler system had been out for two days, with no hot water available to over half our residents and the subsequent calls asking if we knew and the stories of frigid showers and baths and "during the war we would go six weeks without bathing".
I was ready to deal with the fact that it is first of the month and therefore, of course the accounting system must take itself offline with an error posting.
I was ready for the need to multitask several situations at one time - between phone, window and simply regular office tasks.
I was, however, NOT ready to find out that a particular resident had passed away during the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning.
Now, I've been doing this job for ten years and it's not the first resident death I've experienced, nor will it be the last. When you work with seniors, death is simply a part of life. There is always a tinge of sadness and, normally, I take a moment, say a prayer and then move on.
While I am not close to all my residents, there are some few who have wound themselves a bit tighter in my heart than others. Some that, I confess, I enjoy seeing, greeting and sharing an occasional moment with more than others. All my residents receive my courtesy and respect for their person, but there are some residents who, by their very nature, win my trust and care.
Ms. M was one of these.
Already a resident when I began working, Ms. M made an impression on me from the very start. She was one of those ladies that rolled with the punches life dealt and relied on her faith to keep her going. A strong woman in a fragile body, she would ride her scooter down to the lobby each day to enjoy a view other than that out her patio, to enjoy the sun. During the winter she particularly enjoyed sitting by the the fireplace in the living room, a change of scenery for a few minutes or a couple of hours.
Fiercely independent, Ms. M took care of all her affairs on her own. She would travel the city either for doctor appointments or shopping or simply going to see a movie via the Lift Bus through the city bus transportation.
Intensely private, her life - her comings and goings - were her own. Often found in the midst of group conversations, Ms. M would be the one to listen quietly and comment infrequently, rarely sharing personal experience, feelings, or thoughts.
Strong in her convictions, Ms. M was never one to "let it slide". She expected to be treated fairly and she treated others the same way. She didn't ask for extra favors, simply expected what was due - whether work by a housekeeper, or public transportation, etc.
Ms. M was on of those people whom I would on occasion make the comment more than once that I wanted "to be just like when I grew up."
Through the years Ms. M and I forged a friendship. Brief moments shared between us - a smiled greeting as she would pass my window, a pat on her back as I moved through the hallways - she was respectful of my time ... knowing I was busy ... simply enjoying the times when I could sit in the lobby for a moment and chat, yet never asking me to do so. She wouldn't ask, but she always appreciated. Ms. M trusted that I would keep her privacy and I trusted she would keep mine. Over the years Ms. M and I shared a few stories, light or serious, enjoying a few occasional moments in each other's company talking about family, health, and life in general.
Today has been a difficult Monday. But then ... the day of the week doesn't matter in this case. Although I rejoice that Ms. M is no longer in pain, no longer suffering, that she is happy and at peace in Heaven, my earthly heart is mourning the loss of the quiet presence of a kind woman.
Two quick stories I'd like to share about my Ms. M:
1) When I returned from my vacation, that first day, Ms. M. came past my window and greeted me with a true, heartfelt delight. She is the only resident with whom I shared some of my journey, and it was Ms. M. who, when I showed her my pictures of myself with Jensen & Jared, exclaimed that she knew them, that she watched Supernatural ... it was one of her favorite shows! She was happy that I had had the opportunity to go and to meet them, and happy that I had safely returned.
2) I cannot remember the first time, it's been years ago that she started stopping briefly at my window and quietly handing me a Hershey bar. She knew I love chocolate and seemed to have fun sporadically popping by and gifting me with the sweet treat. There was no regularity involved, yet she seemed to know when I could use that chocolatey sweetness the most. I would perhaps get a couple a week, sometimes a couple of weeks would pass without one. Nothing obvious ... just a simple clearing of the throat and a tap tap at my counter to get my attention, and then she would lay it down and head on down the hall or across the lobby. No conversation was needed. Of course, she knew by my lightning smile the pleasure it brought. She probably also caught on when I would dash out my door and wrap her in a hug that she had made me very happy.
I am going to miss my friend, Ms. M. Probably more than I can imagine at this time.
I'll miss her smile, her strength, her perserverence.
I'll miss her chocolate.
Not after having a lovely four day weekend spending quality time with family.
Not after having a relaxing Sunday evening at home because no evening church services means no nursery obligations.
Not after having a chance to get an extra half hour of sleep because the girlies are out of school.
Yep, although the day began with gray clouds and the drive to work included equal parts of rainy mist and spitting snowflakes, I was having a good morning.
The hair ... the make up ... the wardrobe ... everything seemed to come together this morning.
I had time for my tea and for my breakfast before heading (not rushing) out the door. Traffic flowed well and the music playing was good.
I was ready to face the day.
I knew it would be busy. It always is when we have had the office closed for more than a weekend. I was ready.
I was ready for 96 questions about how was my weekend, my Thanksgiving, etc.
I was ready for 96 exclamations over the new onslaught of cold and was I responsible questions. (For those who may not remember, I am evidently responsible for the weather that afflicts our residents.)
I was ready to find out that our boiler system had been out for two days, with no hot water available to over half our residents and the subsequent calls asking if we knew and the stories of frigid showers and baths and "during the war we would go six weeks without bathing".
I was ready to deal with the fact that it is first of the month and therefore, of course the accounting system must take itself offline with an error posting.
I was ready for the need to multitask several situations at one time - between phone, window and simply regular office tasks.
I was, however, NOT ready to find out that a particular resident had passed away during the wee hours of Thanksgiving morning.
Now, I've been doing this job for ten years and it's not the first resident death I've experienced, nor will it be the last. When you work with seniors, death is simply a part of life. There is always a tinge of sadness and, normally, I take a moment, say a prayer and then move on.
While I am not close to all my residents, there are some few who have wound themselves a bit tighter in my heart than others. Some that, I confess, I enjoy seeing, greeting and sharing an occasional moment with more than others. All my residents receive my courtesy and respect for their person, but there are some residents who, by their very nature, win my trust and care.
Ms. M was one of these.
Already a resident when I began working, Ms. M made an impression on me from the very start. She was one of those ladies that rolled with the punches life dealt and relied on her faith to keep her going. A strong woman in a fragile body, she would ride her scooter down to the lobby each day to enjoy a view other than that out her patio, to enjoy the sun. During the winter she particularly enjoyed sitting by the the fireplace in the living room, a change of scenery for a few minutes or a couple of hours.
Fiercely independent, Ms. M took care of all her affairs on her own. She would travel the city either for doctor appointments or shopping or simply going to see a movie via the Lift Bus through the city bus transportation.
Intensely private, her life - her comings and goings - were her own. Often found in the midst of group conversations, Ms. M would be the one to listen quietly and comment infrequently, rarely sharing personal experience, feelings, or thoughts.
Strong in her convictions, Ms. M was never one to "let it slide". She expected to be treated fairly and she treated others the same way. She didn't ask for extra favors, simply expected what was due - whether work by a housekeeper, or public transportation, etc.
Ms. M was on of those people whom I would on occasion make the comment more than once that I wanted "to be just like when I grew up."
Through the years Ms. M and I forged a friendship. Brief moments shared between us - a smiled greeting as she would pass my window, a pat on her back as I moved through the hallways - she was respectful of my time ... knowing I was busy ... simply enjoying the times when I could sit in the lobby for a moment and chat, yet never asking me to do so. She wouldn't ask, but she always appreciated. Ms. M trusted that I would keep her privacy and I trusted she would keep mine. Over the years Ms. M and I shared a few stories, light or serious, enjoying a few occasional moments in each other's company talking about family, health, and life in general.
Today has been a difficult Monday. But then ... the day of the week doesn't matter in this case. Although I rejoice that Ms. M is no longer in pain, no longer suffering, that she is happy and at peace in Heaven, my earthly heart is mourning the loss of the quiet presence of a kind woman.
Two quick stories I'd like to share about my Ms. M:
1) When I returned from my vacation, that first day, Ms. M. came past my window and greeted me with a true, heartfelt delight. She is the only resident with whom I shared some of my journey, and it was Ms. M. who, when I showed her my pictures of myself with Jensen & Jared, exclaimed that she knew them, that she watched Supernatural ... it was one of her favorite shows! She was happy that I had had the opportunity to go and to meet them, and happy that I had safely returned.
2) I cannot remember the first time, it's been years ago that she started stopping briefly at my window and quietly handing me a Hershey bar. She knew I love chocolate and seemed to have fun sporadically popping by and gifting me with the sweet treat. There was no regularity involved, yet she seemed to know when I could use that chocolatey sweetness the most. I would perhaps get a couple a week, sometimes a couple of weeks would pass without one. Nothing obvious ... just a simple clearing of the throat and a tap tap at my counter to get my attention, and then she would lay it down and head on down the hall or across the lobby. No conversation was needed. Of course, she knew by my lightning smile the pleasure it brought. She probably also caught on when I would dash out my door and wrap her in a hug that she had made me very happy.
I am going to miss my friend, Ms. M. Probably more than I can imagine at this time.
I'll miss her smile, her strength, her perserverence.
I'll miss her chocolate.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Some Days Just Stink
I lost a resident today.
I wish I could say that it was a matter of her wandering away, of her playing hide and seek, of her simply ducking my calls.
But it's not.
Ms. T died this morning.
She was 79.
I don't work in a nursing home. I work in an apartment complex. We're just like every other unfurnished apartment complex, except we are subsidized by the U.S. Dept. of Housing and Urban Development and we are especially for seniors. What that means is that we can provide the type of living they are accustomed to but, due to small Social Security income checks, can no longer afford.
Still, because we are for seniors, over the 8-1/2 years I have been here, I have lost many residents. It's simply a matter of aging in place and the facts of life.
I have to admit, there are some deaths that don't affect me as much as others. I don't mean that callously or cruelly, it's just the way it works. I have so many residents, I don't know them all as closely as I do some. This death, however, hits a bit hard. For Ms. T and I - we have a history.
For the first couple of years that I worked at the complex, Ms. T and I hated each other. Okay - hate is extreme. But work with me, because it definitely went beyond extreme dislike for the two of us. She never admitted to her original thoughts of me, but I knew they weren't good. In my mind, Ms. T was a nasty, opinionated old woman who consistently complained about everything and everyone.
Then came the buzz on my alarm panel.
Because we are for seniors, our building has emergency pull cords in all of our apartments. During the day, we - the office staff - respond. If after hours, we have a monitoring company that will immediately dispatch an ambulance/fire.
The buzz on my panel came just as I was closing up my office. Checking the apartment, I gritted my teeth and called. No response. Grabbing my keys, I ran to her apartment - knocking as I went in, calling her name.
There she was, seated in her big chair, head back, eyes opening as I came in, looking just fine.
Until I caught the whistle and gasp rhythm that I realized immediately was her breathing.
"Ms. T? Do you need an ambulance?" I'm required to ask. I'm not allowed to assume.
A brief nod of her head as she continued the whistle/gasp and her eyes stayed fastened on me.
As I got her necessary paper, we have them all post, I took her phone and made my way to kneel on the floor beside her chair and dialed 911. I gave all the information they required. She was able to haltingly give me a brief description of what had preceeded, and I relayed the information.
The ambulance was on it's way.
Meanwhile, the whistles and gasps seemed to be getting faster and her eyes remained fastened on mine. I remember tears came to my eyes and I told her that I didn't know what else to do. I reached up to pat her hand and she grabbed it and gasped out "just ... please ... don't ... leave ... me". I turned her hand and held it softly, rubbing the back of it, looking into her eyes calmly and told her that nothing would move me. We watched each other for a moment and then she said the word ... "pray".
So, I did. For her. For me. For the both of us. When I looked back up at her face, she gasped a smile at me, just as the EMT's came through the door. She didn't release my hand until they loaded her onto the bus to go to the hospital.
It was late when I got home that night. I still had to close up my office, plus I called Ms. T's daughter to advise her of the situation and where her mom had been taken. The next day, her daughter stopped by to thank me and to give me the scoop on her mom's situation. The next week, Ms. T. came home.
Nothing was ever said between Ms. T and I about that day. For all intents and purposes, it might not have happened. Except it did and we both knew it and we both came to an understanding that what had been past was just that - past. We were both still there and we both appreciated the other's presence. We never became close, but we enjoyed each other's brief moments of company.
During the years that followed, I learned alot about Ms. T and her fight for life each day. I respected her fight to maintain her independence and her integrity. She was never one to let something slip, always fiercely determined to take care of her business - even as life twisted her once healthy body.
I lost a resident today.
More than that, I lost a friend I respected and admired. I wish you could have met her.
I wish I could say that it was a matter of her wandering away, of her playing hide and seek, of her simply ducking my calls.
But it's not.
Ms. T died this morning.
She was 79.
I don't work in a nursing home. I work in an apartment complex. We're just like every other unfurnished apartment complex, except we are subsidized by the U.S. Dept. of Housing and Urban Development and we are especially for seniors. What that means is that we can provide the type of living they are accustomed to but, due to small Social Security income checks, can no longer afford.
Still, because we are for seniors, over the 8-1/2 years I have been here, I have lost many residents. It's simply a matter of aging in place and the facts of life.
I have to admit, there are some deaths that don't affect me as much as others. I don't mean that callously or cruelly, it's just the way it works. I have so many residents, I don't know them all as closely as I do some. This death, however, hits a bit hard. For Ms. T and I - we have a history.
For the first couple of years that I worked at the complex, Ms. T and I hated each other. Okay - hate is extreme. But work with me, because it definitely went beyond extreme dislike for the two of us. She never admitted to her original thoughts of me, but I knew they weren't good. In my mind, Ms. T was a nasty, opinionated old woman who consistently complained about everything and everyone.
Then came the buzz on my alarm panel.
Because we are for seniors, our building has emergency pull cords in all of our apartments. During the day, we - the office staff - respond. If after hours, we have a monitoring company that will immediately dispatch an ambulance/fire.
The buzz on my panel came just as I was closing up my office. Checking the apartment, I gritted my teeth and called. No response. Grabbing my keys, I ran to her apartment - knocking as I went in, calling her name.
There she was, seated in her big chair, head back, eyes opening as I came in, looking just fine.
Until I caught the whistle and gasp rhythm that I realized immediately was her breathing.
"Ms. T? Do you need an ambulance?" I'm required to ask. I'm not allowed to assume.
A brief nod of her head as she continued the whistle/gasp and her eyes stayed fastened on me.
As I got her necessary paper, we have them all post, I took her phone and made my way to kneel on the floor beside her chair and dialed 911. I gave all the information they required. She was able to haltingly give me a brief description of what had preceeded, and I relayed the information.
The ambulance was on it's way.
Meanwhile, the whistles and gasps seemed to be getting faster and her eyes remained fastened on mine. I remember tears came to my eyes and I told her that I didn't know what else to do. I reached up to pat her hand and she grabbed it and gasped out "just ... please ... don't ... leave ... me". I turned her hand and held it softly, rubbing the back of it, looking into her eyes calmly and told her that nothing would move me. We watched each other for a moment and then she said the word ... "pray".
So, I did. For her. For me. For the both of us. When I looked back up at her face, she gasped a smile at me, just as the EMT's came through the door. She didn't release my hand until they loaded her onto the bus to go to the hospital.
It was late when I got home that night. I still had to close up my office, plus I called Ms. T's daughter to advise her of the situation and where her mom had been taken. The next day, her daughter stopped by to thank me and to give me the scoop on her mom's situation. The next week, Ms. T. came home.
Nothing was ever said between Ms. T and I about that day. For all intents and purposes, it might not have happened. Except it did and we both knew it and we both came to an understanding that what had been past was just that - past. We were both still there and we both appreciated the other's presence. We never became close, but we enjoyed each other's brief moments of company.
During the years that followed, I learned alot about Ms. T and her fight for life each day. I respected her fight to maintain her independence and her integrity. She was never one to let something slip, always fiercely determined to take care of her business - even as life twisted her once healthy body.
I lost a resident today.
More than that, I lost a friend I respected and admired. I wish you could have met her.
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