Hulda turns around to look at her home one last time. She’s got the hand of her daughter, Dolores, who steadies her a bit. The bright afternoon sun reveals the chipped paint, the tear in the bedroom window screen from that crazy hailstorm last spring, and the now overgrown front yard, all of the maintenance things she can no longer get to, but she doesn’t see any of that. What she sees is the home she raised her children in, the bedroom her and Ben cuddled up together in during the big snowstorm that caused the 3-day power outage in 2002, and the front porch where her daughter first laid eyes on the love of her life. She can almost hear the comforting distant whir of a lawnmower keeping things tidy down the street, as her and her family sat on the front porch and ate dinner watching the sky turn pink and the warm lights come up in the gabled houses across the street. There were moments of sorrow too, like that crystal blue early Autumn afternoon when she sat on that same porch and waited for the vet to come and relieve the pain her loving dog Honey Bear was in. But really she was graced by a lifetime full of love, simple pleasures, and good hard work. A long life well-lived so far. She felt lucky, as she always said, “so lucky”.
To leave this home tears her to shreds, but it is time and is for the best. After Ben passed away 3 years ago at 86, Hulda was alone, and grew lonely. At 84 now herself, she can no longer make it safely up the stairs to the master bedroom her and Ben shared for 53 years. She managed to convert the old study on the ground floor into a makeshift bedroom which helped some, but her failing eyesight and near constant hip pain was making it harder and harder for her to live alone safely, let alone well. Cooking was now difficult, reading her medication bottles even harder, and straightening up the house a day-long chore that exhausted her. She had always been so neat and clean, coming from a hardy and proud Swedish background. Now she feels a bit embarrassed about the home she filled with so much love and care, and shies away from inviting visitors over who she thinks will notice its state of disrepair. The hardest thing for Hulda is simply getting up out of her easy chair or bed. The hip arthritis flares often, and she, and her daughter, fear for a devastating fall with no way to call for help.
She resisted her daughter’s pleas for her to move to an assisted living facility in the suburbs. She could still do some things on her own, and was proud of that. Besides, who wants to live with a bunch of old folks being waited on hand and foot? And the cost would quickly drain every last bit of savings her and Ben had, and all of the equity in her house.
She felt stuck, trapped in a home and a world that was closing in on her.
And then her friend Sarah told her about Hanai House. Sarah had moved into one 6 months ago, reluctantly at first, and now was finding a new sense of community, companionship, and self-worth. She lives in a little village of these homes, each for 4 unrelated elders. Each person has their own large private bedroom with space to hang out, but the 4 share a large open space with kitchen, dining room, work space and living room. The 4 housemates were carefully matched, not only to be socially compatible, but to infill each other’s needs and challenges- to make a self-reliant whole out of the group of 4. And it works well. They are available for each other to offer a hand-up as many times a day as needed, keep an eye out for each other, remind each other about medications, cook and eat together. Sarah is physically strong but cognitively slipping. She can be the mate do to much of the household chores, while her new friends help her with grocery shopping and keeping her appointments with her Neurologist.
Much more than the safety and physical help, they are becoming kind companions. Now Sarah, who lost her husband 6 years ago, has 3 friends to watch movies with, someone to go on evening walks with after a filling supper, and comrades to share her daily ups and downs with. She can be comfortably herself with them, more so than with visitors to be entertained. Sarah felt now as though she has a new extended family, and a loving safety net.
Hulda pauses to soak in the view of her home and relish it. But there’s a part of her that feels relieved too. She took that fall in December and was lucky she didn’t get hurt. Now she is beginning to feel her loneliness fading. A complex mix of emotions at this poignant moment.
A new chapter lays ahead for her at her Hanai House, one she believes will be better than other penning’s of this chapter of this lovely novel that her life has been so far. One where she can continue to do and contribute. One where she can feel the lasting warm joy of helping others. And one where she feels she will still have some dignity, purpose, and meaning.
Hulda gingerly slips into Dolores’ Subaru, and takes one last look at the house as they slowly drive away. The sky is that same crystal blue, bathing everything in stunning light. Yet the light is soft as the sun sinks lower on the horizon. A time of mourning and loss for Hulda for sure, but also a time of new beginnings with hope and promise. It seems you can’t have one without the other.
Make a circle in the sand
Make a halo with your hand
Make a place…. for you to land
Adam Duritz
Bill Brummett
Principal
WBA-Concerto Consulting
Concerto Consulting 