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losing oneself

I know that I've mentioned that my job can be very rewarding... and very depressing.

When I was a driver, I tended to have the same route - and the same passengers - every day. I got to know some of them very well.

One of the sweetest passengers was an elderly lady whom I'll call Mrs. G. She lives alone in a rustic cabin, off in the wilderness of the county. I would pick her up from the senior center in the afternoons and take her home. Almost blind, she could never see who was walking up to her, but when I spoke she would immediately recognize me.

"Oh, hello! Are you here for me? Good, good." And I would walk her very slowly out to the bus and help her into a seat. She would always pass me a dollar "for coffee later" even though I always reminded her that I was not allowed to accept tips.

"This is just between you and me, dear."

After picking her up I would make a stop at an adult MRDD workshop to pick up a few more passengers. These passengers were a little on the rambunctious side, but she always treated them with dignity. Even though she was blind, she knew each of them by name... Even the ones who couldn't speak.

On their payday, they came out to the bus carrying their frightfully small paychecks proudly. She would praise each one as they "showed" her the check. "That's wonderful, Bobby! You must be so proud!"

Mrs. G put up with their screaming squabbles, even helping me to calm them when they became too loud. "The driver can't hear, Scotty. You need to be quiet." And they would listen to her. They knew she respected them, and they respected her for it.

When I arrived at her house each day, I would help her off the bus and up the stairs of her house. I would always run across the busy street to her mailbox to fetch her mail, because if I didn't she would try to get it herself. I knew that if anything happened to her because I didn't get her mail, I would never be able to forgive myself.

I haven't seen Mrs. G in about a year.

This morning one of our drivers went to pick her up and she came to the door stark naked. "I'm not quite ready yet," she said. The male driver whole-heartedly agreed, and told her that he couldn't take her like that. "I'll just be a minute," she protested.

Our driver said he would wait a few minutes for her, and went back down the porch stairs to the bus. Mrs. G followed him, walking through the frosty grass in her bare feet. "No, no, Mrs. G!" The driver helped her back into her house. "You have to get dressed!"

"I didn't want you to leave without me," Mrs. G said. The driver said he would make a few more pickups and come back for her. He promised.

She went inside.

When the driver returned half an hour later, Mrs. G was completely dressed and ready to go. She did not seem to remember the incident earlier. "I guess you were running a little late," she said. "You should have been here half an hour ago."

Situations like this put us, as a transportation service, in a difficult position.

We report incidents such as this to Adult Protective Services, but nine times out of ten they don't do anything. We cannot deny transportation to clients until they make it clear that they are a danger to themselves or others. Coming to the door naked is not dangerous, apparently.

Why do people have to grow old? Why can't people just be sane and healthy until they die? No suffering, no embarrassment. I've transported many people to adult day cares, where a family places an elderly relative during the day when no one is home to care for them. These people have various stages and forms of dementia, senility, and Altzheimers. It hurts me to see them like this, but I have never known them otherwise.

Mrs. G, however, is slowly losing her mind. I knew her when she was lively and in full control of her senses. Knowing that she is failing like this... It makes me angry. It's not fair!

But life's not fair, you know.

I know. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Watching someone lose themselves... Like I watched my grandmother lose herself...

My mind is the one thing I have which makes me me. If I lose that I would be gone. The body lives, but empty.

Looking Up

______ of the Day

Spinning

"Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode off the album Violator

Go Somewhere