The Diary of Queen Mothy |
The Retirement Village written @ 9:45 PM on October 19, 2002 My fingers hurt from painting. It's like a weight is bearing down on my knuckles. It's a good way to unwind from the day. I did some community service with my leadership group today. We went to a retirement community in Florence, Kentucky, one that deals exclusively with Alzheimers. They were having an Oktoberfest sort of thing for the residents. It was a nice little place. I wouldn't mind growing old in such a place. Well, I wouldn't want to live in an Alzheimers part of it; that's just a horrible and unnaturally cruel thing nature does. My charge was this spunky little old woman named Sally. Sally is quite popular among the residents. She must be over 80 and she's lived in the Florence area all her life. They had games, door prizes, and this man playing country music on a banjo, harmonica, keyboard, and a trombone. His music annoyed me substantially, but the residents loved it. I thought about my grandfather living in a place like this for two years after my grandmother died. I could see how he hated it; he would never have admitted it to us that he hated it, but my aunt and uncle had moved South, he refused to go with them, and there was no one else in Pittsburgh who could have taken care of him. I could tell he hated it, though. I could see how living in a place like that how it must seem like there is nothing else left in life to live for. He died just over two years of living there. I was in the nineth grade. If my grandmother had lived, even for a year more, I believe there are a lot of things in my life that would have been different. I don't think my dad, for one, would be the person that he is now. I think I would be a stronger person. My grandmother would not have stood to live in a retirement village, not unless it was the very last choice. What I wouldn't give for one of her vanilla shakes and French toast breakfasts right now. But no use in pining after the past. Memories will have to suffice. And in a place like a retirement community, life is as fragile as an autumn twig. My work continues.
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