It takes a Village

I wrote this two weeks ago, and it's been sitting in my draft folder. Sometimes, I need two sleep on a a post for a while. So here goes:

For some people today is just an ordinary Saturday. They recycle their cardboard, wash their cars, shop for groceries or do yard work. For others it's actually a particularly happy day. I haven't even mentioned it, but as of this Thursday, February 17, most of the pandemic related restrictions were lifted. No more mask mandate, except in public transportation and medical facilities. No more certificate needed to eat at a restaurant or train at the gym.

For a few people, however, today is one of the weirdest days. Weird as in sad, confused, lost even.

I'm pretty sure this is true for my Kindergarten and elementary school friend Irène. She buried her Mom yesterday. She was in great shape, very active and full of live, for the lack of a better word. Then she had a very unfortunate fall down the stairs, which caused severe head trauma, and after a couple of days in a coma, she just drifted away. 

From age 3 or 4 until my early teens, I frequently stayed there for playdates, lunch, sometimes even for dinner and a sleepover. She took us to the public pool or the ice rink. Unlike my own Mom at the time, she had a car and the freedom to buckle us kids up and go places. 

My friend went to med school and moved away to practice gynaecology in another state, a 3+ hours' drive from here. 

I had to go back to find out when I last saw her. It's been 10 years!! We had an elementary school reunion that she attended, and her younger brother even quickly dropped in that night. He was a good friend of my brother's. 

The funeral was nice. I mean, not as in "a happy and pleasant event", but considering the heavy hearts we all had, it was nice in its own way. 

I didn't even expect to talk to my childhood friend Irène. But there she was, just as I was about to sit down in church, she was hugging a friend, sniffling. I did the obvious thing. Grabbed a pack of tissues and slipped it to her. She thankfully accepted it and was like "I can't believe I didn't bring enough myself. Thanks so much for coming, that means a lot to me."

We agreed to meet the next time she was coming "home". Her Dad is back at the house after spending a couple of weeks at a nursing home. He's not doing that well though, so I don't know how long he will be able to live alone, even with selective care by external caregivers. A family friend, with whom I walked home from church after the funeral, told me about the Dad. She knows of stay-in nurses from Eastern Europe who come here on a 3 months' visa. She's in her mid 80s I think, so she must have done research to be prepared for herself and her husband who turned 90 last year I believe?

So this got me thinking. Just like it takes a village to raise a kid - and my friend's family was part of my brother's and my village - it also takes a village to care for our senior citizens. I know I should somehow volunteer, and I may very well bring food or do laundry, but I can't do "patient handling". He's big and tall, I could not help him get up to go to the bathroom or get dressed. So I do hope the help he's getting, is enough.

As for my friend, I will reach out to her. Her current village may be 155 miles away, but hey, we have technology!