The walk of a lifetime
Not long after I moved into my house I noticed an older, retired male neighbor, famous in the hood for his regular walks through the neighborhood. After living here a few months I met his very sweet, elderly wife.
His physical condition was considerably better than hers. When he power-walked, she strolled slowly & from time to time he slowed his pace to walk with his wife.
On all of his solo walks he would read a book while walking. She once explained to me that he his a retired journalist & avid reader but he is also very shy. She noted that burying his head in a book served as protection from chatty neighbors.
I've never exchanged more than a friendly hello with him, everything I know about them came from her.
Both of them walked daily, rain or shine, they always took their walks. About two years ago I spotted our sweet lady neighbor sporting a cast on her arm then as fall & winter rolled by the kids & I noted that we hadn't seen her for awhile.
Maybe the weather was just getting to be too much for her, I explained to the kids.
She used to call Sissy & Boo "Brown Eyes" & gush over how much fun it was for her to see them playing in the same neighborhood where her now grown children once played.
In the spring that followed that last summer sighting I saw him out on a walk but this time he did not have a book resting in his hands, instead he held the arms of a wheel chair.
Her chair.
She had suffered a stroke.
No longer able to care for herself or even speak, he bundled her up in warm wooly blankets for an early spring walk. After one winter with her at home he finally had to put her into a nursing home, unable to provide the 24/7 care she needed.
And now, nearly two years after her stroke I still see him out on his daily walks with her chair in his hands.
His physical condition was considerably better than hers. When he power-walked, she strolled slowly & from time to time he slowed his pace to walk with his wife.
On all of his solo walks he would read a book while walking. She once explained to me that he his a retired journalist & avid reader but he is also very shy. She noted that burying his head in a book served as protection from chatty neighbors.
I've never exchanged more than a friendly hello with him, everything I know about them came from her.
Both of them walked daily, rain or shine, they always took their walks. About two years ago I spotted our sweet lady neighbor sporting a cast on her arm then as fall & winter rolled by the kids & I noted that we hadn't seen her for awhile.
Maybe the weather was just getting to be too much for her, I explained to the kids.
She used to call Sissy & Boo "Brown Eyes" & gush over how much fun it was for her to see them playing in the same neighborhood where her now grown children once played.
In the spring that followed that last summer sighting I saw him out on a walk but this time he did not have a book resting in his hands, instead he held the arms of a wheel chair.
Her chair.
She had suffered a stroke.
No longer able to care for herself or even speak, he bundled her up in warm wooly blankets for an early spring walk. After one winter with her at home he finally had to put her into a nursing home, unable to provide the 24/7 care she needed.
And now, nearly two years after her stroke I still see him out on his daily walks with her chair in his hands.
11 Comments:
That is so sad.
Last night at Mass, I saw a couple - had to be in their 90s - holding hands.
I want that.
geez. that's both inspiring and sad.
Their life is a beautiful life and like most lives of beauty nears to an end with a deep melancholy.
My god, i'm sobbing. my god.
You have no business dating any sane man.
You would tear him apart.
But you have a good heart looking after the old folks.
So once again I'm forced to both criticize and compliment.
It's tearing up the universe.
Sincerely,
A two year reader's analysis.
Two very large tears-Karen
Sigh... that is so sweet.
Kinda reminds me of a Nicholas Sparks book.
aw jeeez. this is NOT the kind of stuff i need to read about with the funk i'm in. *sobs*
*sob* what a touching and sad story.
I always tell my husband I want to grow old with him, hold hands with him like the 90-year olds mentioned above, watch the sunset as we walk with out walkers.
I never want to be the one left behind pushing the chair. How sad that man must be.
*SNIFFF* that was so sad. I hope he is ok
Reminds me of that Kathy Mattea song... "Where Have you Been?"
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