Miss Judy

I'm in a place I've never been before, far, far, from home. 

 

Accommodations weren't as expected. 

 

I don't expect too much. 

 

Everything will be okay. 

 

Perhaps, just maybe, Maggie and I are here for other reasons.

 

Maybe our reason for being here has nothing to do with work.

 

Maybe this trip isn't even about us.

 

My neighbor, sister of the owner, has dementia. 

 

Owner, from everything I've seen, takes care of her sister, truly cares for her. 

 

The laundry room is located between our two cottages. The laundry room locks from outside. Sister walks around the corner about to close the door, with Maggie and me inside. 

 

Oh dear. 

 

Heat could be a problem if locked in the laundry room for any length of time.

 

Owner made a trip into town for groceries. I don't know if she's back or even if she left, there are several cars. 

Sister is lost, alone for a bit. I ask her if she would like to go sit in the shade. Maggie Rose and I offer assistance, a hand to hold onto. Graciously accepting our offer, she asks us to sit with her. 

 

We sit. 

 

She begins telling stories of animals she's owned. And of love. Lost love. I nearly weep. 

 

"He and I became a 'thing' after a long period of time. I was working for an attorney, he was a client, an Italian gentleman."

 

Maggie and I listen. We like stories, even heartbreaking stories. 

 

"We almost got married."

 

"Why didn't you?"

 

"He died. He was twenty years older than me. They all died."

 

"We became a thing."

 

She begins her stories again.

 

She smiles, wistfully so.

 

"Where are my car keys? Do you see my car keys?"

 

"Where's my sister? Have you seen my sister? Will she be back? When did she leave?"

 

Questions I'd answered to the best of my knowledge but was willing to answer again. 

 

And again. 

 

Maggie and I checked on laundry. Shortly we will see if Miss Judy is still sitting under the tree. 

 

We will love on her a bit more if she's outside, listen to stories that make her smile in the telling. 

 

Memories. 

 

Dementia is ugly and sad and viciously heartbreaking.

 

My heart hurts for Judy.

 

For her family. 

 

And for lost love.