Assisted Living

This story was written for the 7750 Word Project 2023. It's a little dark at the beginning but lighter at the end.

The love of my life died four months ago. We met in college. She was dancing barefoot on the campus lawn following a butterfly when I first saw her. I remember thinking that she was as different from me as air and water but I took off my shoes and socks as a gesture to show that we might have something in common and I walked to her. That day we had coffee together and our relationship began. I was always the serious one and she was the one, filled with smiles and joy, who always took pleasure in life.

She was younger than me but through the years she became the teacher and I the student. My childhood had been very conservative and I didn't know how to break free of the conventions that I thought society demanded of me. She invited me to take risks that I never would have attempted on my own.

This year, we'd planned to travel around the world to experience as much as we could after I retired at the age of sixty-five, but that was before the cancer was discovered. In the following weeks she had to be placed in hospice care but she still exhibited the same grace that I'd always seen. And on the day that her body was finally too weak to continue, two souls died.

I retreated into the comfort of the darkness. The drapes in the house were always drawn and the kitchen table was soon covered with menus from take-out restaurants. People were hired to maintain the property and once a month, in my only concession to the outside world, housecleaners were allowed to intrude on my self-imposed exile. I had neither the will nor the strength to do either job. I'd lost thirty pounds since my wife died and each day, I found it more difficult to think of reasons to get out of bed.

In my pain I pushed away many people who tried to help. I spend more time speaking to my doctor than with family or friends. He prescribed pills to control my blood pressure, pills to help me sleep, and pills for my depression, not to mention vitamin pills, allergy pills and others I'm not even sure why I'm taking. God knows I can't pronounce half of them.

If she were still alive, my wife would be very upset. I haven't followed the advice that she gave me at the hospice. She knew that I would grieve when she died but she didn't want that grief to destroy the things that she had taught me. Her last wish was that I enjoy every precious minute that I was given on this earth. There would be time enough for us when we met again.

I thought of those words when I finally opened the drapes. I only hoped that it wasn't too late to repair relationships that I had distanced myself from. As for the home, it was really too big for one person and an apartment would only be a smaller empty space. Considering my health and lack of human contact, assisted-living was the best option. Adjustments, of course, would have to be made. Moving from a two-story house to even a two-room unit at the facility required deciding which things were most important. According to my wife that was anything that couldn't be replaced.

There was also another problem. At the assisted-living facility, I faced an unfamiliar situation. As a recently widowed and relatively young male, the attention that I received from the women there was overwhelming. Each one seemed to take a personal interest in my well-being. Yes, they mothered me but I didn't think that was what they really wanted to do.

All of that attention might give someone an inflated ego but I never forget the event that brought me here and there are still times when I need to be alone. It's comforting to know that the women understand and respect my privacy when they find my door locked.

A month later, the results of their care are obvious. My health has improved, my weight is back up, I sleep much better and my list of prescriptions has been reduced although I did ask the doctor to add Viagra. My earlier suspicions of the intentions of the women had been correct. I still struggle with getting out of bed in the morning although now it's for a different reason.

I hope my wife is happy now.