Belonging

I don’t belong here. Yes, you do. I’m not one of them. Oh, yes you are. Such has been the adjustment to my life in a new setting. Independent living here isn’t totally independent as I get used to the check-in and check-out system. Assisted living is available if I ever need it. 

I’m younger than most. Not by a lot, but by several years. Maybe this is my way to deny. To minimize. I moved here because I needed a few services. I’m not like the others who need help with everything. But I know the truth, that this was part of the long term decision I made.

From the day I moved in, I kept hearing about MaryEllen, my next-door neighbor. I hadn’t met her because a week before I moved in, she was taken by ambulance to the hospital. I heard the constant inquiries throughout the community. Have you heard anything from MaryEllen? When will MaryEllen be back?

Now three months later, she’s back. I heard about it all over the place. Then I see who I assume is MaryEllen one day as I’m returning to my apartment. She’s in a wheelchair, being guided down the hall by her daughter.

We greet each other, and I tentatively ask if she is MaryEllen. She is and hesitantly asks if I am her new neighbor. And I am. She’s already been told the unique spelling of my name and been filled in on a few minor facts about me. That’s how things are around here.

We exchange pleasantries and she talks about her harrowing journey through the health care system and her adjustment to dialysis. I tell the funny story of hearing a new sound. Water running very early one morning. Then when I heard MaryEllen was back, it all made sense.

She hopes the noise didn’t wake me. I say no. We have a good laugh. MaryEllen then tells how she must be ready for pick-up at 5:00 am and how her life now includes four hours of dialysis treatment three times a week. Whew!

I’m already accustomed to the early morning running water; I also hear nurses and aides routinely knocking on her door and being welcomed in for their checks and for needed care. Later, I’m told by another neighbor (as I’ve said, we look after each other), that MaryEllen is so happy to be home but is much more frail than before this incident.

Time will tell if and how much she bounces back. This unleashes a myriad of thoughts and feelings. Mostly, that I belong here.

Who’s Crazy?

I must be crazy believing even small restrictions
on gun ownership would reduce mass shootings

Only someone insane like me
thinks politicians should compromise

I’m nutty to think medical decisions
should be made by only a doctor and their patient

I must be out of my mind
thinking thoughts and prayers aren’t enough

Only deranged me could think term & age limits
would discourage the power hungry from seeking office     

I’m upset that only the rich, able to afford a lawyer,
can clog the system with frivolous filings  

How silly to think respect for true public service
is essential to the political process

I’m appalled how one senator’s personal beliefs
can hold up miliary promotions for months

I’m goofy for arguing that assault weapons
aren’t used for safety or hunting

Perhaps I’m warped, thinking health care
should be a right not a privilege   

How demented am I to believe
if women ran the world there would be fewer wars

Who’s crazy?
Not me.

Sitting on the Balcony in November

The gray chilly fall days
give way to a late morning surprise.
The sky is blue,
the wind is low,
the temps are high.
The balcony beckons.

Most leaves on the trees
in the courtyard have fallen.
Now I see the birds
whose phantom calls I’ve only heard.

Noises creep into this quiet respite.
Traffic, sirens,
and of course, the trains.
As the afternoon cools
I mourn the end
of this unexpected refuge
and pine for spring.