Another Vacancy
A little light has gone out of the world. Yesterday, I learned that the elderly couple who shared the unit adjacent to my previous abode had passed away within the last month. If you recall one of my earlier posts, I described how I had lived with my mother in a 55 + community for a number of years. While there, a very vocal Italian couple moved in to Apt. "C", mere feet away. Both were quite vocal for a variety of reasons. The wife was naturally boisterous, but more practically had to shout so her all-but-deaf husband could acknowledge her. I'll bet the entire complex heard her ask that the $#@^% television be turned down. Although, with all of the retirees in the complex, televisions could be heard blaring from most units at any given moment....
Over the years, I got to know this couple fairly well. First, smiles and waves as I left for and returned from work/school. Then, some mid-parking lot exchanges of increasing weight. The wife began to tell me how difficult it was to care for her much-older companion. He was deteriorating rapidly, physically and cognitively. His driving privilege ended one weekend after he absent-mindedly and blissfully unaware drove some 80 miles in the opposite direction from home, setting off an hysterical search party effort.
A month or so before I moved out, there was an urgent midnight knock on the door. It was the Mrs., frantic that she had locked herself out. Her husband was asleep or just unable to hear her door pounding. She remembered that she had given my mother a spare key. By this time, my mother was in the hospital, unreachable, and I had no idea where to even look. But I finally found it, and the Mrs. was relieved and overjoyed. She thanked me and then delivered a long sililoquy about how she felt her mind had finally gotten away. She feared for her future, for her husband's. She was not a woman of faith, but I told her I would pray for them.
In July of 2007, I moved away, but I had several occasions to revisit the complex, as my grandmother still lived/lives there. I saw the Mrs. once or twice more. She seemed more despondent each time. More prayers.
Now I've learned that the wife had a heart attack, and died in the hospital. Her husband, who had finally been admitted to a nursing home some months before, died a few weeks later. It is unclear whether or not he was aware of his wife's death. I like to think he was, that their hearts were inextricably linked, that one could not go on without the other. About ten years ago, one of my co-workers passed away following a coronary event. Her husband took his own life a month later. I didn't know all of the details, but having known this couple, I now feel that much the same rationale was at work. Terribly sad, and crushingly romantic all the same.
Even though I no longer saw my Italian neighbors on a regular basis, just glimpsing the light in their window gave me some sort of sense that in spite of hearing impairment, aches, and memories, these two were still together, still clinging to the vows they had uttered so long ago. When I visit my grandmother, it will weigh on my heart, not seeing that light.
RIP. Each of you demonstrated exemplary compassion and love. You've left indelible impressions on me.
Over the years, I got to know this couple fairly well. First, smiles and waves as I left for and returned from work/school. Then, some mid-parking lot exchanges of increasing weight. The wife began to tell me how difficult it was to care for her much-older companion. He was deteriorating rapidly, physically and cognitively. His driving privilege ended one weekend after he absent-mindedly and blissfully unaware drove some 80 miles in the opposite direction from home, setting off an hysterical search party effort.
A month or so before I moved out, there was an urgent midnight knock on the door. It was the Mrs., frantic that she had locked herself out. Her husband was asleep or just unable to hear her door pounding. She remembered that she had given my mother a spare key. By this time, my mother was in the hospital, unreachable, and I had no idea where to even look. But I finally found it, and the Mrs. was relieved and overjoyed. She thanked me and then delivered a long sililoquy about how she felt her mind had finally gotten away. She feared for her future, for her husband's. She was not a woman of faith, but I told her I would pray for them.
In July of 2007, I moved away, but I had several occasions to revisit the complex, as my grandmother still lived/lives there. I saw the Mrs. once or twice more. She seemed more despondent each time. More prayers.
Now I've learned that the wife had a heart attack, and died in the hospital. Her husband, who had finally been admitted to a nursing home some months before, died a few weeks later. It is unclear whether or not he was aware of his wife's death. I like to think he was, that their hearts were inextricably linked, that one could not go on without the other. About ten years ago, one of my co-workers passed away following a coronary event. Her husband took his own life a month later. I didn't know all of the details, but having known this couple, I now feel that much the same rationale was at work. Terribly sad, and crushingly romantic all the same.
Even though I no longer saw my Italian neighbors on a regular basis, just glimpsing the light in their window gave me some sort of sense that in spite of hearing impairment, aches, and memories, these two were still together, still clinging to the vows they had uttered so long ago. When I visit my grandmother, it will weigh on my heart, not seeing that light.
RIP. Each of you demonstrated exemplary compassion and love. You've left indelible impressions on me.
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