Just a few days after my husband’s passing, my phone rang. The caller represented Shady Pines Old Folks Home.
“A personal care home? Is that one of those places where they cook your meals, clean your room, and even help you with bathing?”
“It certainly is, Mrs. Clark. We can provide a wide range of services in your time of need.”
“Awesome. Sign me up.”
(My two college-age children wondered if grief had taken their mother’s sense of reason. It had not. Neither had it taken her sense of humor.)
“All right, Mrs. Clark. I need some more information from you, starting with your date of birth.”
“May 15, 1963.”
“1963? Mrs. Clark, did you mean to say 63?”
“Sure did. I’m nifty at fifty. . . . Hello? You there?”
And so the long list of encounters began with folks who had little understanding of who a widow is and what her needs are.
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