There are no good phone calls in the middle of the night.
Some are merely annoyances, such as the drunk people in Phoenix who used to call me in the small hours to ask why I wasn't in the bar with them and would never believe they had the wrong number, (ten years earlier I would have gone and met them), or whoever it is that's convinced my home office line is a fax number and insists on trying to contact me during the night.
Then there's the potential-to-be-bad-but-as-it-turns-out-not-really type of call such as when my mother phoned from Scotland at 3am to tell me my Dad had suffered a heart attack. Half asleep, I was busily giving her instructions on loosening his clothing, before she explained that a) as heart attacks go, his was very mild, b) it had happened three days earlier and he was already home from the hospital and c) she hadn't wanted to worry us so she'd waited until she thought it was Saturday morning. (My Mum has challenges with the time difference.)
But, when the phone rang a little after midnight on Sunday and a man introduced himself as a neighbor of Dear Wife's 90-year old Grandmother, we knew it couldn't be good.
Grandma had seemed in fine fettle when we visited last May. A little slower getting around but not bad considering. And her mind still appeared to be sharp so we left feeling confident about her ability to keep living alone. It was later in the summer she began to tell us of the visitors. At first they were comforting, people like her late brother and husband, leading me to speculate that as she was perhaps approaching her time, the walls between the worlds were somewhat thinner than for the rest of us. Then came the people she didn't know, sitting on her couch, talking among themselves but ignoring her. Recently a group of them were selling stolen goods at her back door. The fact that her apartment doesn't have a back door was of little reassurance. She has told them to leave, but still they come.
A retirement home would seem the obvious solution but like many elderly folk, she fiercely guards her independence and resistance is strong. Assisted Living is another idea; where she could continue to live by herself but help would be available if needed. Unfortunately, on a recent visit to check out one such community, Grandma claims she saw a resident face down in his soup in the communal dining hall and refuses to consider the idea further. A succession of in-home helpers have come and gone; all dismissed on one pretext or another.
Until now, there was no reason to consider she was actually incapable of living alone and as DW already had a visit scheduled for next month, we reasoned she could use that to assess the situation and decide upon the appropriate course of action. But then on Sunday night a group of people came through the apartment wall and began threatening her. Fortunately, she was cognizant enough to cross the hall and ask the neighbor, an angel named Gabriel, for help. He in turn, called us. Grandma had already dialed 911 and the police were on their way. It was my fear they may decide she couldn't be left alone and would take her to some institution for observation - a process which would be devastating for her.
So at our request, Gabriel had the officers call us and we were able to reassure them that DW would be on a flight out first thing in the morning. She's there now, and from a phone call last night, it appears Grandma is in good spirits. There's no doubt in her mind however, that the people really did come through her walls and will no doubt return.
Poor Grandma. I have no wish for her to die, but it's my fervent hope she at least retains her dignity to the end.
It is autumn; not without
But within me is the cold.
Youth and spring are all about;
It is I that have grown old.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "Autumn Within"
