Working as I do in an elder living facility, that kind of utterance doesn't usually end well. I walked out into the hallway and tried to listen for the direction the voice was coming from. Up the stairs and down the hall. I heard a baleful pronouncement once again, "Ohhhh nawww..."
I walked rather slowly up the stairs. I probably should have bounded up but not knowing what was up there, I didn't really want to skid into some kind of real misfortune. Halfway down the hall stood Harold. He was standing up, not laying in a crumpled mess like he'd fallen. There was no sign of blood or other infirmity. He just stood there looking at his door. "Ahhhh... I'm locked out..." he said shaking his head.
After more than a year in "the biz" I never leave my office without my cell phone in one hand and my keys in the other. I quickly produced my Master Key - the one that can solve about a quarter of the problems that I encounter, and proceeded to unlock Harold's door for him. He clutched a bundle of mail that looked like he hadn't checked his mailbox in a while and pieces fluttered to the floor as he walked in and set them down on the table. He shook his head disconsolately and muttered under his breath about where he could possibly have left his keys.
He apologized profusely and said it was his birthday. "I guess now that I'm seventy-five, I'm going to start forgetting things," he quipped, a bit sarcastically. Harold lives at Madison Lane Senior Living Community but the dude works nearly full time as a church caretaker, has a razor-sharp wit and a goofy smile. He is hardly the epitome of premature aging.
I began to think of the days I've had when nothing seems to work right, when I forget important things, and then that final straw serves to crush my spirit. I could tell that Harold was having one of those days. And it was his birthday. Though he lived alone, I knew that he had a few friends and family nearby. The kids at the church school had all drawn him little birthday cards, which he held carefully in his hand.
A couple of minutes later, Harold passed by my office rattling his keys. He'd left them in the door of his mailbox, likely distracted by the bundle within. He had already laughed off the mishap and his feeling of dismay. The goofy smile was back.
Each new day comes with a reset button. All that happened yesterday is in the past and there exists a new opportunity to improve upon what has gone before. Sometimes, you just keep walking and don't look back. Other times, you can smooth over the cracked bits and refuse to let them bring you down. Sometimes memory lapses aren't so bad, I guess.
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