An Unexpected Love

** This story is a continuation of one of my previous stories, The Footsteps on the Tile. I encourage you to read that one first***

I’d been volunteering at the senior center for the past three years. Susanna, an eighty-seven year old widow, twice, was one of my favorite people and I looked forward to seeing her each week. Her presence in my life was transformative and something I didn't know I was missing or needed. The center is open from seven o’clock in the morning to eight o’clock in the evening and is a place for seniors to spend the day safely while interacting with others instead of being isolated in their homes. Volunteers like me, as well as a handful of paid staff, take shifts helping to prepare meals, organize activities and help keep an eye on them. Initially it reminded me of a child care center and I found it sad and depressing. That may have been because I was ordered by the court to spend one thousand hours there performing community service.

I was not proud that I had been driving drunk, but I was grateful that I had only injured myself and ruined my car. My injuries were minor, a broken arm and a bump on my head when my car jumped the curb and struck the street sign. I was only moving about fifteen miles per hour at the time, it could have been so much worse. I had been arrested and spent the night in jail as there was no one who would bail me out. I had reached the lowest point in life which also meant almost complete abandonment by my friends and family. The loss of my love in a plane crash, the intruder in my house which led to connecting with his twin brother, and the death of my beloved dog Maggie had plunged me into a deep depression that alcohol had helped me escape. Or so I thought. In an attempt to bring myself out of loneliness and despair had given up my own company and taken a job with a small graphic design firm praying that the regular human connection would fill a void and help me move forward. My friends and family had tried to help as they watched me spiral out of control. Originally I was functional, only drinking in the evenings and on weekends. The first time I had a cocktail at lunch it had felt invigorating, like a naughty little secret I was keeping; the good girl gone bad. 

Two months after the accident I had paid my fine, accepted my punishment and reported for my first volunteer shift on a Tuesday evening in March. I was to be there for three hours after work once a week helping to serve meals, clean up and shut the place down for the night. When I arrived I was greeted by the center director Daniel. He was warm and friendly despite my obvious desire to be anywhere else. I met the other volunteers, many of whom were also there as part of their community service and repentance for poor choices in their life. We made small talk while preparing and serving dinner and at the end of the evening I left feeling exhausted and thinking only nine-hundred ninety-seven hours to go. 

Three and a half years later and my perspective is one-hundred and eighty degrees different. It was a Saturday and Susanna and I were in charge of decorating the center for the fall. We decided to start by cutting out leaves from orange, red, yellow and brown construction paper. I did the cutting as Susanna’s hands are twisted and frozen in place as a result of arthritis. She sorted out and lined up the different colors of construction paper and told me one of her many stories of her life. I had heard most of her stories before but it was more important for her to tell them to someone so I was listened while I cut along the lines traced from the pattern. In 1951 her husband Bill had been drafted at age twenty; they were newly married with a baby on the way. Bill never returned home from Korea, in fact his remains had never been found and Susanna had carried his memory with her for over sixty years through a second marriage and a step-child and one more child of her own. Her life had been hard at times; hard in a way people, especially women living today will never understand. 

“Did I ever tell you the story about how I met my second husband James?” Susanna asked me. She had, at least twelve times, but I loved being the person she could talk to so I replied that no, she had not. 

“Oh, it is a great story. I was really struggling after I accepted Bill was not coming home. My daughter Meredith was two and we were living with my parents. They were nice to take us in but I could feel the tension each day and knew that I had to figure out how to not be a burden to them. They had done their job; they raised me and married me off, I was not supposed to still be their burden. In those days, it was easiest to just find another husband to take care of me. I had finished high school, but had no real skills, I had never expected to need to work. I was going to stay home and have babies and Bill would work and take care of us. Looking back now, with how the world has changed, it makes me so sad that we women thought that was all life was about.”

As she had spoken I reflected on how different life had been for the two of us. I was still searching for “Mr. Right” and had accepted that maybe he did not actually exist. Although she and I were fifty years apart in age, I had also been raised, to a lesser extent, to look for the knight on the white horse who would swoop in and take care of me. And I had tried for many years to find him but generally ended up either with men who were already taken or with men who could not meet my high expectations and so at thirty-eight was still very much single. 

“Back then we couldn’t be picky” Susanna continued “we were completely reliant on others to take care of us. I did not want that to happen to me, I wanted to be able to take care of myself and my daughter. So, I enrolled in courses at the secretarial school in town and learned how to type, take minutes, answer phones, those kinds of things. After the classes ended I applied for a job at a construction company in town. They were looking for a girl Friday for the office. I was so proud of myself”. Susanna was beaming at me; the pride of this accomplishment still so meaningful to her over fifty years later, which made my heart happy each time she told the story and smiled so wide. 

I kept cutting out my shapes while she continued to talk. She told me about how she had met James her second week on the job. He owned a one-man plumbing business that the construction company often contracted with for jobs. He had come into the office to drop off an invoice and had struck up a conversation with Susanna. This repeated weekly for a month until one day he asked if she would meet him for a cup of coffee. Susanna had been so focused on performing her duties well that she had not realized their friendly conversations were anything more and hesitated in her response. “James, I need you to know I have a child. She is two, my husband died in the war”. James had replied that he was sorry and he also had a daughter a few years older. “I am a widower, my wife died in a car accident last year,” he told her. They had met for coffee the next week and after dating for a year, they were married.

“I kept my job, Alexis. I knew I never wanted to be completely dependent on anyone again. My friends never understood why I wasn’t just content taking care of James and the kids. But they had never felt the fear that comes with loss, the feeling of being out of control” I understood the fear of the loss and the feeling of being out of control. I had only shared snippets of my past with Susanna, preferring to let her talk and share her stories. Today felt different, there was something different in the air and I felt more comfortable to open up. 

“I understand that feeling Susanna, not to the same level as you, but to an extent. I was in love with someone once, someone I shouldn’t have been in love with, and he died unexpectedly. I got really depressed, made some bad choices and ended up here as part of my community service. I did not want to be here. But this place, you and the others, have saved me.”

Over the past three years I had increased the amount of time I spent at the center. The first six months I did the minimum; two short shifts a week. I kept my head down and my words to a minimum, careful not to engage with others. At the time I thought that if I acted as if I wanted to be anywhere else it would protect me. There was safety in putting up emotional walls and boundaries. My shifts consisted of preparing meals, serving them and cleaning up, so keeping to myself was hardly a challenge. People tried to talk to me, tried to engage me in conversations while we washed dishes and put things away at the end of the evening, but I remained aloof and distant. Looking back I realize that I was so scared of becoming attached to anyone again that I did everything I could to keep everyone at a distance. As fall and the holidays approached that year the other volunteers became more busy with their children and work and Daniel asked me one evening if I was available to come in on a Saturday. The center was closed Sundays, but sadly there were several seniors with either no family or nowhere to go on Saturday making a need for volunteers. Most weekends I had absolutely no commitments so I reluctantly agreed. 

Saturday shifts were different from the evening meal service shifts I had become accustomed to. They were eight hours instead of three and there were less volunteers and less seniors, so the center was fairly quiet. After meals were made and served there was time to spend with the seniors playing cards, talking, or going for walks around the block. All of  which made it harder to stay in my safe place. Susanna was one of the seniors who often came for a few hours on Saturday. She lived with her daughter Meredith, who was now in her sixties and a senior herself but still working and trying to make ends meet. Meredith generally spent time on the weekends with her kids and grandkids, but Susanna's lack of mobility meant she could often not participate in the activities they had planned and she was dropped off at the center. 

In addition to the bond I formed with Susanna her family welcomed me into their homes for various holidays over the years. I am an only child and my parents lived on the other side of the country, our relationship strained by distance, a chaotic upbringing and emotional abuse. Being included in Susanna’s life had begun the process of breaking down my walls and opening up. They were warm and loving, just like Susanna, caring about me in a way I had never experienced. That first Saturday there were only two other seniors at the center and when I arrived they were deep into a competitive game of chess with Susanna’s as the spectator.

“Alexis, come over here and sit with me. I have never understood chess and watching how serious these two are about it is fascinating!” she said as I walked in the door and hung up my coat on the hooks. I joined her in a chair and as we watched Marty and Sam battle it out in silence I immediately felt a warmth radiating from Susanna as she made “hmmm” and “oh” noises after each move. Describing the feeling sitting next to her is difficult; I just know that for the first time since I had met Douglas I felt as if I was home, as if I was important to someone, as if I was loveable. Feelings that were not often present in my life, feelings I had been searching for and found temporarily in the bottom of my gin and tonics. I had been sober since the accident; I went cold turkey and vowed to never touch it again. I had no social life and no enticement for social drinking, it had taken an enormous amount of willpower to not drink alone at home. But control was something I was good at; controlling my feelings and emotions came easy. Over time, Susanna, without ever saying it, made it her mission to break down that control and show me that it was safe to show and feel emotions. 

The game ended and Susanna grasped my hand and said “will you help me bake some cookies my dear?”. We had spent the afternoon making snickerdoodles from scratch and talking. When I left the center that afternoon the world felt a little different. I was a little different; there was a small crack forming in my hardened foundation. 

“Well, I have like a hundred leaves cut out now so I think we should talk about where we are going to put them,” I said to Susanna. “I was thinking we could use double-sided tape and put them up all around the room, just under the moulding. What do you think?”.

“Yes, dear, I think that would look lovely and really cheer up the place” Susanna responded. “Maybe Mark can help you with that”. Mark was another volunteer who had started about a month earlier. Susanna had decided that she would play matchmaker when he and I volunteered together and she was always looking for ways to pair us up. I will admit that he was good looking and nice, but I was not sure I was ready yet. 

“Did I hear my name Susanna?” Mark said as he approached us. His smile was warm and welcoming.

“You did,” I replied. “Susanna was hoping you would help me hang up these leaves around the room”.

“Of course! Let me see if I can find a ladder” Mark replied and headed into the equipment room returning a few minutes later with an extension ladder. 

“Hi Mom. Are you ready to go?” Meredith had arrived to collect Susanna. They were headed to her daughter’s house for dinner. Susanna slowly collected her coat and purse and prepared to go. As she did I felt an overwhelming urge to hug her and say goodbye. 

“Goodbye Susanna,” I said as I hugged her frail body gently. “I love you. Thank you for everything and I will see you Tuesday night”. 

“I love you too Alexis. See you Tuesday my dear. And Mark, take good care of her, don’t let her fall off that ladder”.

“Yes ma’am. She is in excellent hands”, Mark replied with a smile that showed all of his amazingly straight white teeth. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking while we took turns climbing the ladder to tape the leaves to the wall. At the end of the day we decided to go together and get dinner at the taco shop next door before heading home. We talked the entire time; sharing things about our lives we had not shared with many others. It felt comfortable, not forced, and as I fell asleep that night I found myself, for the first time in a long time, smiling and looking forward to seeing him again. 

The next morning I am awakened by the sound of my cell phone ringing. Sunday mornings I let myself sleep in, no alarm clock, and I am surprised to see it was already nine-thirty. The name on my phone said “Meredith” and my heart sinks. Why was she calling me so early in the morning?

“Hi Alexis. I am so sorry if I woke you, but I have some sad news. Mom passed away in her sleep last night. We found her this morning laying peacefully in her bed.” The words I am hearing are impossible to comprehend, like a bad dream. And suddenly I remember I had felt such an urge to hug her and tell her how I felt the previous day. Something in my mind and body had known that I would never see her again and it was important for me to convey the impact her presence had on restarting my life.