Some Things Are Just Meant to Be…

And suddenly, I am reminded why I love Pottstown and why I believe we can move it forward, together.

A good, true, heart-warming story.

If you’ve had, (or have), a parent or someone close to you who is diagnosed with dementia, you’ll relate to the sadness of their confusion and, sometimes, the funnier side of this progressive disease.  It is life afterall.

My mom has dementia.  Although we live far apart we talk on the phone several times a week.  It can be difficult to grasp the progression of her changing reality over the phone but recently…

Most every day, since early April, is the day after Christmas for my mom. Nearly every phone call begins with a question:  ”Did you and the kids have a nice Christmas?” I always answer with enthusiasm, “oh yes, yes we did. We had such a nice dinner and a visit together.”

My dad is her caretaker.  We speak with each other less often because he’s partially deaf and doesn’t enjoy talking on the phone.  When we do take a minute to shout back and forth at each other he catches me up with things at home – in real time.

I spoke with mom this past Sunday.  After mom was assured that we’d had a nice Christmas, we talked about dogs, painting, the weather. I spoke with dad too, briefly.

My cell phone gave notice, with a swish, that I had just a few seconds left to say good-bye before the battery would put an abrupt end to the call, “talk to you again soon, I love you, my phone is going to die”…

As I get older I find myself more comfortable with “the familiar.” Many  months ago when the charger for my phone frayed, I patched it together, (on  the wings of hope).  I was concerned that they didn’t make regular old chargers for regular old flip phones any longer and I would be forced to buy a fancy schmancy phone that I really don’t need.

Held together with blue painters tape, the charger worked just fine if I took my time and plugged it in carefully then laid the phone down at just the right angle to the cord.

Clearly I knew I was charging on “borrowed time,” and…

Sunday, after the call to my parents, the charger drew its last breath.

It was my good intention to look for a replacement, long before that time came.  Like maybe one day when I was out running errands – a quick stop by Radio Shack – if only I could remember or had been savvy enough to make a list of stops I needed to make.

Yesterday morning was packed with activity – no chance to run out for a charger, so my phone remained dead.

My husband, back from running errands of his own, announced that my son had phoned him to say that grandma had phoned HIM – to say – that she couldn’t reach me and she was very, very worried about me, setting off a chain reaction of worry!

“O.K., I’ll  use your phone to call her as soon as I’m finished talking to the carpet guy,” who was beginning the job of installing new carpet up the stairs to the second floor.  Then, I said, ” I promise I’ll run right out to get a new charger…TODAY,” (my husband grimaced), he’d heard that one before.

No sooner had those words flown out of my mouth, there was knock at the door.  The carpet guy yelled, “hey, there’s a cop at the door.”

**Oh gosh, I thought, hope nothing’s coming down on the block that would bring the police to our neck of the woods this early in the day**

I ran to the door, flung it open to find the familiar, reassuring face of a young officer who has answered calls, this summer, when there has been trouble on our block.  Only this time, he came bearing a message – for me…

“Your dad phoned the police from his home in Colorado.  Your parents can’t reach you, they are worried about you and they want you to call them soon,” said the kind, young officer.

Flustered, my mind racing between embarrassment, *he must think I’m a negligent daughter who’s poor parents are suffering not knowing where I am or what I’m doing*  to confusion,

I was counting the days in my head, *gee today’s Monday and I talked to my parents on Sunday* – “When did they call,” I asked.  The officer said, “this morning.”

“Oh, o.k.” I replied, with a nervous laugh, quickly trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, hoping everything was all right back home.  I think I tried to explain mom’s confusion to the officer,  although I don’t really know if I did or just thought I did.

I thanked him for coming to my home.  As soon as I closed the door a fabulous feeling washed over me.  It was the very same warm, down home feeling of comfort I always got when watching the Andy Griffith show.

The care and concern for one another in Mayberry, (my personal definition of utopia), the familiarity and friendliness was just here…standing at my front door… right here – in Pottstown!!

I am reminded by this experience that we are a small community.  We have so much to build on and these old-fashioned values are not gone, maybe diminished, but NOT gone.

I remain even more optimistic that we can leverage partnerships with one another and strengthen the bonds that will build our community on these very old fashioned but real values.

This one, small act of kindness, the sense of duty by this police department and this officer – touched me deeply.

Thank you for your concern and thoughtfulness.  My mom and dad want you to know they appreciate your effort as well.

I quickly phoned home.

My folks are just fine and things have shifted, again, for my mother.  It’s not Christmas any more, but now, it’s a need to feel connected to me, their only daughter, at ALL times,  through the miles that separate us and to know I’m only a phone call away – no matter what trivial details fill my life and…

I can adapt.

I have a new charger, thanks to a neighbor who happened to have two.  I’ll not make the mistake, again, of being without a charged cell phone at the ready, at ALL times.  And…

just in case someone should call to tell me something miraculous – like – Donald Trump has just set up a trust fund of zillions of $$$ to revitalize Pottstown – I surely would not want to miss that call!!!