When you live in God’s Waiting Room, every groan, crash, slam and sneeze is cause for concern. Since we moved in here, I’ve noticed that I am ever alert for sounds of distress.
When I hear someone holler “Oh no!” at the t.v. I wait to make sure they really are watching the t.v. and not wedged between a bureau and a wall with their medic alert necklace two inches out of reach.
Maybe it’s because I’m a mother that I can think of 16 reasons each resident might be in danger at any moment. This must be how Hospice nurses feel, except they probably feel relieved when their patients are no longer in pain.
Nobody has died over the past year that we have been here. But I still can’t help feeling we are on borrowed time. Even Mrs. Bloomer, our beloved next door neighbor, sets out on each trip with “If I come back…”
I freeze like a lizard on a hiking trail every time I hear a siren. And then I wait and wait until the siren either fades or passes.
A few times the emergency vehicles have gone to The Wrigley Mansion across the street. And once the firemen were just doing drills or testing power lines or something. Those are the days that I needed a little lie down.
I’ve lost count of how many times I have been jogging along S Orange Grove and passed a gurney being wheeled from a complex to a flashing ambulance. I don’t know why we are so lucky in this complex. When is the other shoe going to drop?
40 seems old to a lot of people, especially in LA, but I feel way to young to be dealing with these issues on a daily basis.