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(Names have been changed to protect the identity of the family.)
I had hardly known the woman, but Dolores, my frail 95-year-old neighbour, had left an indelible scar of sadness and outrage on my soul.
It was just before Christmas of 2014, that I found an invitation taped to my hallway door, to join Dolores and a few neighbours for Christmas tea at her place.
The afternoon was festive and loaded with surprises. Two of Dolores’ daughters, Thana, and Morana had carried out her wishes to have a party with her neighbours. The daughters had spared no effort or expense to prepare a beautifully decorated apartment, a wonderful spread of tasty holiday treats, and wine as well, to spice up the otherwise ordinary coffee and tea in porcelain cups. Dolores had even sent everyone home with a ‘goodie bag.’
I discovered eventually that my elderly neighbour resided in a nursing home, and her daughters would regularly take her back to her old abode to enjoy a few days at a time as they looked after her needs.
Despite the nonagenarian’s frail health (she barely tipped the scales at a hundred pounds), she maintained a sharp and witty mind as she engaged her guests in conversation. However, my sense of propriety was put off at some of Dolores’ off-colour jokes. Obviously, modesty didn’t automatically stroll hand-in-hand with aging. The lady seemed very fulfilled and happy with life. I was impressed by the care lavished on her by her daughters.
As the next two years passed, I would meet Dolores and her daughters in the hallway of the condo building, and they would exchange pleasantries. Dolores seemed happy and content. Occasionally, Thana would come by my place and ask for a cup of sugar or some cream that they had forgotten to bring for Dolores’ few days at home.
One warm spring day, I was relaxing on my patio, enjoying the shade and the birdsong from nearby trees. Thana pulled up with Dolores in a black SUV. I waved and ambled over. Once Dolores was wheeled inside the apartment, I helped Thana bring in various supplies and a suitcase for Dolores’ stay.
In my estimation, Thana was about my age— late fifties and close to retirement. Perspiration beaded her face; large wet circles appeared under her arms on her oversized T-shirt. She wiped her forehead with a bandana she had pulled out from her jeans pocket. I followed Thana out to her vehicle to help with a few more things.
Anyone could see that it was no easy job for Thana to regularly assist her mother in spending a few days at home. I wanted to encourage her. “Your mother is very blessed to have daughters like you and Morana.”
Thana’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Really? I hadn’t really thought of that. Sweet as she is, Mother is quite demanding at her age. Unfortunately, the job falls to me most of the time, as my siblings are usually too busy.”
I detected a note of bitterness.
Thana mopped the rest of her face and pocketed the bandana. “This time, Morana is away on a European holiday, and the rest have their legitimate excuses for not helping me. Frankly, I’m getting tired. This is becoming too stressful.
Thana managed another weak smile. “Thank you for watering my mom’s plants on the patio. They would be dead in no time without your help.”
I nodded. “Oh, I’m a real gardener-at-heart who misses that now that I’m in a condo. I am happy to keep those plants alive!”
The next time I saw Dolores was on Canada Day. Thana wheeled her chair down the hall to her suite. The woman was frowning and seemed preoccupied. As she passed me, she whispered, “Hang on a minute. I’d like to ask you something.”
As soon as Dolores was in her apartment, Thana returned. She cleared her throat. “I have a favour to ask of you. If you don’t feel comfortable with what I’m asking you, please say no.”
I shifted my position to a more comfortable one. My curiosity was piqued. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”
Thana’s tone became quieter as her eyes glanced back and forth. Despite my hearing aids, it was a challenge to make out what she was saying.
“My Mom’s health is really going downhill. She’s in a lot of pain, and she’s suffering.”
Eppie thought about Dolores’ cheerfulness today and in the last few encounters. If she was suffering, she was hiding it well.
“She’s lived a good life, and she’s tired.”
I was gripped with apprehension. I then had an exceptionally good idea of what Thana was going to ask.
“My Mom would like to leave this earth on her own terms. But before she can do this, she needs two people who are not her family, to sign a statement attesting to the fact that she is of sound mind.”
I felt sick and thought: If Dolores really is of sound mind, why isn’t she asking me herself, instead of her daughter? This is not your will, Lord! Jesus, please give me your wisdom to say the right thing.
I looked Thana in the eye.
“Thank you for considering me a trustworthy person for this request. However, I need to let you know that you are talking to a pro-lifer.”
Thana’s hardened gaze belied her cheerful tone. “Oh, okay. No problem. I just thought I would ask.”
In the months that followed, I prayed constantly for Dolores and her family. What could I say or do? An urgent request was put on my church’s prayer chain. I prayed for my elderly neighbour and the family who wanted to send her off into eternity. To what? With or without her permission? I sent urgent petitions to the Lord about Dolores, Thana, and the siblings each time I passed her door.
In the early fall, I was tending to my vehicle outside my ground floor condo, when Thana drove up with Dolores, who was wheeled inside a little too quickly, in my estimation. I offered to bring items from the vehicle to Dolores’ sliding door. Thana hesitated, then gave me some things. As I approached the sliding door, I noticed that it was slightly open, and that Dolores was seated right beside it! My heart jumped. Here was a God-given, ten-second window to speak to Dolores! At the corner of my eye, I spied a furious Thana, barrelling toward me in a panic.
“You are so blessed by God to have a family who loves you and cares for you,” I sputtered loudly enough for both women to hear. I deposited the items inside the door and turned to Thana, forcing a smile. “Have a good day.”
Thana remained silent and brooding as her chest heaved from her exertion.
There were three more days until New Year’s Eve, and I had caught some kind of bug. Feeling miserable, I lay on the couch all day, listening to classical music and reading a novel. I heard some voices outside and peered out the window. A group of people I did not know were making their way into Dolores’ suite. She and her family gathering for New Year’s perhaps?
A short while later, I heard a knock on my hallway door. I answered it. Thana had a saucer in her hand. “Hi!” She waved it in my direction. “Mother would like some eggnog, and I was wondering if you had any nutmeg.”
I nodded. “I’m under the weather, and wouldn’t want to endanger you or your mom with my germs, so if you hang on to the saucer, I’ll get the nutmeg and sprinkle some on, while I keep my distance, okay?”
Thana seemed much more chipper than the last time I saw her and was all smiles. Her eyes, however, conveyed a cloaked wariness. “Sure! Thank you so much.”
I sprinkled as much nutmeg as I could. Thana stopped me politely. “That will be fine, thank you! Happy New Year!
And then she was gone.
It was a few days after New Year’s that I went to the lobby down the hall from my door. I opened my mail slot. Nothing except for junk mail— all my bills were paid online. As I passed the bulletin board, a small notice caught my eye. I leaned in closer. Horrified, I realized that it was Dolores’ obituary. According to the obit, her neighbour had peacefully passed away at home surrounded by her family. —That she had chosen to leave this earth with dignity, grace, and serenity.
As if in a stupor. I photographed the obituary with my smartphone. My mind did some chronological backtracking, as the memory of the people outside Dolores’ apartment flashed before my eyes.
Most likely, Dolores did not die in God’s timing on December 29th. Could it have been during the wee hours of the morning? —And on the evening of the 28th, had I unknowingly contributed to Dolores’ last eggnog on earth?
I felt used. I threw myself into my Heavenly Father’s arms and wept.
The End
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