It doesn’t matter whether you choose a luxurious house like those found in a Del Webb community, or a low-income Senior housing situation. It’s all the same.
At some point you will realize you are in your final act. You can learn to make sushi rolls with a bamboo mat, sit on residential boards, do the daily morning news at your PA system, but it’s all the same.
This is your Last Act.
Last week, in my retirement villa, a woman I had known from a distance was found in her apartment. Dead. Two weeks before I was with her at a beginning crochet class. I asked to take photos of us, to prove to my kids I had actually left my apartment. She ducked her head. In a bit, since we were next to one another and she clearly was a wonderful crocheter, she mumbled she made lap afghans for the Veterans home. After that she was silent.
Only after that afternoon did she acknowledge my presence as we passed in the hall. She would look up, blink, and we moved on.
I called her, in my mind, the little country mouse – like in my childhood stories. Tiny. Quiet.
And before I got to know her, she was gone.
It could have been Del Webb’s. Or my retirement home. Or on the street, where I think Bonnie came from.
Rest In Peace, dearest soul. Where you are now I pray supersedes anything you knew here.
I know you passed in a warm home, well fed, with the promise of better days ahead. I believe you finally have those days.
Save me a place…