Memories vol 1

Those that have known me for more than a while will also know that I worked as a maintenance supervisor in a retirement home for 25 years. A quarter century of working with people who averaged 87 years of age. A quarter century of becoming friends and in some cases closer than family with the tenants. I was in their homes regularly, I knew them, I knew their histories, I knew their families, I held their grand, great or even great-great grand babies. The dark side of all this is that about every six weeks I’d also find one of my friends passed away or in the process of passing, usually in their bed, sometimes in their recliner, occasionally laying on their davenport, and rarely in the bathroom–where I worked maintenance was the first responders as we had no nursing staff on site.

If you work the math you can see I found 216 friends (reality is 227) after they left this mortal world for their next adventures. These experiences are how I can now turn off emotion, walk away from people I care deeply for, and disconnect from life when things get too rough. It also means that I have memories that haunt me and will always haunt me until I too go to my next adventure. There is no clean break when you compartmentalize death, caring, and love. The death of a loved one always leaves a mark in your psyche, a wound that never fully heals, and being with someone during their final moments can be both terrifying, and a special bond that never breaks as you become tied to that moment for the rest of your own life.

I have been away from that job long enough now that periodically I will post under “Memories vol. __” I won’t post anything identifying about people I found or the sometimes gruesome details of finding them, but there were a few that touched me in such a deep way that I do wish to share them.

Maura out

"Thanks for the memory, until we meet again."

--Song by Leo Robin & Ralph Rainger

Sung by Bob Hope