A Village

When Mom moved into a senior living center, I worried she’d feel isolated and remain cooped up in her little apartment.

One day soon after she’d moved in, I sat with Mom on her flowered sofa. Her eyes twinkled. She told me about doing puzzles in the big public room, how much she enjoyed the weekly meals brought in, and how she’d made Green Bay Packer hats from gold and green yarn during crafts. “And you won’t believe what else—” Mom began when she was interrupted by two knocks on her door.

“Ginny, hello, are you in there?” The door opened a crack and a woman peeked in. “Just checking in on you.”

Mom gushed on about me for a few minutes, and then the woman bid goodbye. “Enjoy your time with your family, Ginny. I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

And off she went. The glow on Mom’s face lasted for hours. “That woman lives at the end of the hall,” Mom said. “Every time she walks past my door she knocks. If I’m busy I’ll holler out, ‘I’m fine!’ and other times I invite her in for a cup of tea. It’s so sweet of people here to constantly keep tabs on each other, don’t you think?”

I thought it was incredible. Mom wasn’t isolated at all and embraced her new life. When I couldn’t be there, when I was worried she had no one to talk to, a community was reaching out.