**These posts often contain affiliate links. Please see our disclosure policy for details.**
Matt and I are now living in an apartment building; one that reminds me must of college, except that they allowed us to paint our walls. After having a duplex in Hawaii, it’s taken some getting used to sharing hallways and not having an individual garage and storage space of our own. I’m still adjusting, actually.
This morning, before either of our alarms went off, I woke to the sound of our door being opened and then stopped by the dead bolt. After being wiggled twice, the person continued on down the hall. After my momentary confusion and fog lifted and panic set in, I asked Matt what it was. He went to check through the peep hole and listened for a few seconds through the door. He said it must have been somebody trying to get home after a long night of partying, because there was a lot of banging coming from down the hallway.
Several minutes later, we could hear talking outside our door. More peep hole checking, but there was no one in our line of sight. Instead, we could hear their conversation through the door. It was a very patient man [my hunch is a police officer, maybe contacted by one of the residents who’s door had been wiggled] talking to a confused older woman. The woman didn’t know where she was; she couldn’t find her apartment that she shared with her husband. I don’t know where she came from, why she was awake at 6 am, or where she lives, but she was confused and looking for her home and trying to open the doors to all of the apartments in the building in the process.
My initial annoyance for being woken up faded quickly as I listened to her try to remember and describe where she lived to the patient man. She didn’t know her room number. When he asked, she kept saying ‘first building, room 5.’ But when the man said ‘105’ she said No. I thought of her husband and I imagined he must be worried about her, not knowing where she was. My thoughts turned to my parents and grandparents and imagined what it would be like for them to not know where they lived. I hope and pray that it doesn’t come down to that, but I know for so many, it does.
I don’t know what the outcome was this morning. After a few minutes of hearing them talking, it got quiet again. They must have moved on and [I hope] found the woman’s home. As I laid back down to catch a few more minutes of sleep [ok, hours], I prayed for the woman, for her husband, and for that patient man who was trying to help her. I prayed that maybe this is a wake up call for her and her family; maybe she shouldn’t be in a place that is not monitored at all. If she had forgotten her key and found herself outside the apartment building, the Minnesota cold could have been very bad for her. It’s a different thing getting stranded outside in Hawaii. Minnesota is not as forgiving, especially in the dead of winter.
So, here’s a somber start to Wednesday… I didn’t mean for this post to be gloomy, but how can the process of forgetting where you are and losing your memory not be depressing?
I guess we all just pray for the best, and when/if the time comes that situations need to be evaluated, we look at the best and the safest option for those that we love.
God bless you and your loved ones on this Wednesday in the middle of January. Stay warm, and let’s be thankful for the blessings that we have today. Shall we?
Love & Faith,
Leave a Reply