“Och, mój Boże, to cud!” are some of the words that formed on the lips of Freda, a ninety year old Polish-born Morningside Villager, on a recent Sunday afternoon as she stood in the light of Adelle’s open door, also a Polish-born nonagenarian living in Morningside Village. These two women, both residents of the area for over 50 years (names changed to provide anonymity), had known each other but, with one thing and another, including health issues, they hadn’t spoken for several years.
Both women were in touch with me as part of the network of elders whom we care for. I found that each knew of the other and so I arranged for the Sunday visit. I called for Freda, sometimes a little forgetful, and walked arm-and-arm with her over to Adelle’s apartment building. “Oh, everything is coming back. I have been here before of course. What a good housekeeper is Adelle. Her home is as clean as a whistle.” We scaled the steps, rang the bell and walked slowly down the hall as Freda began to remember more, “Her husband was such a brilliant man!” Both women had lost their husbands, and at their advanced ages, they had lost too many other loved ones as well.
Finally, we left the elevator, and there in the light of her doorway stood Adelle, flushed and smiling broadly. Freda walked from me and, clutching on the doorjam, stood before Adelle, and both looked into each other’s eyes for several seconds. Freda took one more step forward, and the two collapsed with joy into one another’s arms. When they stood back again, their hands felt one another’s face, soaking up the familiarities. Then, they hugged again. This was all I needed. Moved, and wanting to give them some privacy, I said I’d be back in an hour to collect Freda and returned home to my desk, losing myself in work for two hours before I thought of returning to Adelle’s.
Fearing I’d be late and that there was a possibility that Freda had worn out her welcome or some other unforeseen complication, I rushed back down Broadway and scaled the two sets of stairs to Adelle’s apartment. But, no. There were no complications. In fact, the two invited me to have some tea, when they continued to reminisce (and to provide me with a truckload of accolades for having brought them together). After a while, I said I had to leave and asked Freda if she was ready also. I figured she’d need help getting back to her place. But, no! Rather, Freda insisted that she could easily get home all by herself, that she would stay a little longer; they had catching up to do. So I bid them both farewell and doubly enjoyed the sunny blue sky on my way home.
As I look back on the day, I’m still warmed by the vision of the two dear friends babbling away between Polish and English and happy as larks. It’s one of the scads of lovely stories that are happening inside Morningside Village. Adelle calls it: “the village of love”.
Irene Zola
Tags: aging in place, eldercare, eldercare village, elderly, holocaust survivors, seniors, Volunteers
