I had had my name on the waiting list for a unit in the senior’s complex here in town. The units are small, but I liked the fact that they each had their own front door, a bit of a patio and a garden. The rent was much less than I was currently paying, and I needed to think ahead, to retirement. I was restless where I was, and who wouldn’t be, I had been almost house bound for two years because of the hot weather and then the winters. My world had gotten smaller as I was able to do less and less.
In the winter of 2013 I got a call that a unit was available. I gave my notice, signed a lease and immediately jumped into the major job of sorting out my stuff as I would need to drastically downsize. I was a pain in the ass, as I’m sure my kids will agree. I needed their cooperation, take this, store this, get rid of that. The whole ordeal was so stressful, for all of us.
I got moved in by June, had a respiratory infection at the end of the month that lingered for weeks, and I did something to my back so that I could barely walk. The summer was just as hot, if not hotter than the summer before. Everything was a struggle. I’d lost my community of friends living just down the hall. I didn’t know anyone at the new place, and I couldn’t get out and around due to the pain.
I put on a good face, it was summer and everyone was busy, thinking I was nicely settled into the new place. But I was depressed, feeling isolated, and OK, woe is me, ignored. It was a major chore to get to my car, to get the laundry or housework done, to get groceries.
I needed help, and I finally made a good decision, I called Community Care.