Dorothy would make an effort to speak with them and establish a friendship, but they would simply go about their business. Give her food. Give her a bath. Give her her prescription drugs. Then vanish.
Over the day, she began to leave her door open. Only a crack. Enough to allow her to hear a voice in the corridor. Enough that she didn’t feel totally isolated. When I went by, I would wave.
I would occasionally pause and talk. She told me about her late Korean War veteran husband, George. About her children being “too busy.” About how she was unable to get to the mailbox by herself after traveling the world.
Leave a Comment