Mrs. “B” is off. Something
is amiss. I can empathize with the pain yet cannot pinpoint the source. Mrs. “B”
finally admits she is feeling strange since the Schwan’s delivery person is
leaving the company and sealed her last goodbye with a short hug earlier today.
We visit about feeling abandoned by friends, people that depart from our lives,
with or without a decent explanation. It is marvelous to have a close connection
with someone, albeit a short grocery delivery exchange, yet doesn’t make it any
less significant. The finger pointed at ObamaCare and I caught my initial
snarling reaction. Allow her to explain the downpour of blame on the new system,
essentially reduces the Schwan’s woman’s salary to just over $10 per hour. I
would really like to investigate up the corporate ranks, discover just how many
people above said employee had experienced the same reduction, and establish the
true cause, versus a fantasy version of the truth. It is not worth pursuing
with Mrs. “B” because her attention is focused on the friend, who has been sold
down the river in a rapidly deflating life vest.
As her 89th
birthday fast approaches, I honor each and every day I have with Mrs. “B”
because I am not certain how many more we will actually have together. Her
intention is to continue to live in the apartment, perhaps having someone move
in to care for her. I will clearly not be that person. The week march along and
I catch glimpses of the decay. Something to look forward to, in my own future.
Yeehah.
No comments:
Post a Comment