All About You FRIDAY – Progress

“You know, his birthday is next week,” my 85-year old neighbor said to me when I dropped in for a visit recently. She was speaking of her housemate, Bryan. “We HAVE to celebrate.”

Back track. Bryan was MY housemate for seven years.

Remember my neighbor?! Six months ago, she was living alone in a hoarded house, barely surviving. Twenty feet away. And I had no clue.

I thought she was weird. I didn’t have time. It was Bryan who stopped in for a visit last summer and asked me if I had seen her recently. It was Bryan who befriended her and asked me to check in on her that fateful day last September.

She had fallen and couldn’t get up. I heard her screaming as I approached her front door and when I ran in, there she was crumpled on the floor, next to her couch. She probably weighed less than 100 lbs. She couldn’t remember how to stand or walk. That is what a urinary tract infection can do to the elderly. They become confused and disoriented.

I called 911.

“How long has she been living like this?” the paramedic asked me as he and his men tried to navigate a stretcher through the hoard to get to her. They were unsuccessful. They had to carry her out to place her on the stretcher in her front yard. I was ashamed to say I had no clue.

She got help in the hospital and then was transferred to a rehab facility where my friends and I ultimately had to bust her out of there one night because they were attempting to get guardianship and seize control of her assets. It’s a real thing.

I’ll never forget that night. My friends and I walked into the facility, signed in and walked right past the front desk person who apparently was unaware that we were told she wasn’t allowed to have outside visitors. We found her sitting in her room, alone. Crying about how four of them had held her down and scrubbed her clean as she was screaming.

“Do you want to go home?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she said feebly.

We quietly packed up her stuff and wheeled her towards the front door, moving past the nurses station where nobody even bothered to look up from their phones. My heart still pounds a little as I recall that night.

In the months she was in rehab, my friends and I filled four 20-yard dumpsters and renovated her house. We painted walls, pulled up old carpet, laid down new flooring, de-molded her basement and cleaned the dust off every last glass in her cupboards.

Bryan moved in to help her out and we welcomed her home.

Four months ago.

I wish you could see her now. She walks tall around her house, not even using a cane for short distances. Her eyes are bright. She does puzzles and engages in great conversations. She is not only alive, but for the first time in many years, she is living.

“Happy birthday!” we said as we walked through her door carrying a cake for Bryan. She looked so proud that we were celebrating. “He’s like my son!” she said with enthusiasm. I saw the homemade card she made and put on the refrigerator door. And I saw the heart she drew in red marker to mark his birthday on calendar hanging in the kitchen.

We made Bryan sit at the head of the table as we sang happy birthday. If you knew Bryan, this would make you laugh. He doesn’t like that kind of attention on him normally, but I had called ahead and told him he had to be a good sport about it. He blew out his candles and we all cheered.

As I cut the cake, Bryan went to grab some paper plates.

“Oh, no!” she said. “We use real plates here!” (They don’t really, but I guess for special occasions, the real china comes out.) She went and grabbed them from the cupboard, thoughtfully wiping each one down. We toasted Bryan to complete the celebration.

(These are the new shades she bought from Old Navy.)

What a world of difference a few months makes. A few months. Some elbow grease. Companionship. Patience. And a whole lot of love.

It was Bryan’s birthday, but he wasn’t the only one we were celebrating. I can’t wait until next month. She turns 86. And there WILL be a party. Maybe you all could stop by. I’m pretty sure she’d love that.

It’s been a long week. Don’t forget to celebrate.

Until next time…