If I live to be 95 that means that I have yet to live half of my life. I wondered, today, what the second half of my existence holds for me. At 95 will I be living on my own ...walking with the aid of a walker, living off a meager pension or the riches of some good investments. Will I be the life of the retirement home organizing Polka Fun Nights or will I have lost so many of my marbles that I will be the pathetic and lonely old lady sitting in my wheelchair playing with the peas on my dinner plate and talking to someone who isn't there.
Today, while in the store, we heard some ruckus outside. I got up from behind the counter and went to have a look. An old man had fallen ...losing his balance when his walker got caught on the uneven sidewalk in front of the store next to me which happened to be closed at the time. He had used his left hand to steady his balance but went down anyway. He cut his hand pretty badly right under is baby finger down into the palm of his hand. Two gentlemen helped him up and we were able to get him into my store and comfortable while Kelly fetched some cold compresses for the bleeding and called 911. I wasn't sure if he had hurt himself any place else and I didn't think I could get him into my truck to take him to the hospital.
Tom is 95 years old. He was dressed in his jeans but was wearing a shirt and tie with a nice scarf around his neck. And he was a cheeky fellow. He had lost his wife 25 years earlier and had a niece and a nephew who lived in our town.
The paramedics came and fixed him up enough to get him to the hospital. Before they left I was able to get enough information to decipher where his niece worked. I gave her a call to let her know what was happening. She called me when she arrived at the hospital where she found him already stitched up and ready to go home. I offered to drive his walker over to where he lived and they met me out front. Tom clearly has all his marbles. And his wit. And a loving family. Just a little wobbly in the knees.
I hope he lives out the rest of his life just the way he is.
1 comment:
Awww poor guy!
I recently lost my first client. His name was Robert and he was 92, and when I went to his home to introduce myself he said he was sorry for bothering me. I said geez, not at all! It's a nice day to be out visiting folks.
Then he passed away a week later, and I felt so sad.
Anyway, the elderly always inspire me and scare me, a little because I worry about my own frailty.
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