Please Mr. Postman
I thought today would be just another day.
So we're going to build a Senior Living
Housing Complex on Grand Haven Road. So far, at this job, I have never really
felt like I fit in. And maybe it's just me but I repeatedly let myself feel
inferior and I'm always struggling with being creative on a tight budget. Most
of my "out of the box" thinking ends up on the cutting room floor or turns
mysteriously into someone else's next big thing. So imagine the little dance
party going on in the right side of my brain when I discovered that I was going
to get to design from the ground up on this project. And it would actually have
the "fun" stuff seeing as how it was not going to be an office when complete.
Tiny little interior homes with fixtures, cabinets, countertops, hardware, and
floorplans There would even be common areas to fill with furniture and window
treatments. Can't you just see it all now...some brick, cedar shake, patio
columns, overhangs, french doors, balconies, dormers, cupolas, american flags
and weather vanes. Spacious interior hallways with lots of light and cozy
lanterns hanging over door knockers and copper address numbers. Our own little
slice of Cape Cod with a touch of Mackinac Island, practically in my back yard.
But today when I went to work I came to the earth shattering conclusion that my
job does not define who I am and I am anything but passionate in this
position.
We toured 2 or 3 similar elderly
facilities as part of the planning process today. I was beyond moved by what I
saw and it wasn't in the construction, floor plans or even the color scheme. It
was in the people. Older people (well, at least 62 and up). People that had
been placed here, probably not of their own accord. People whose children
rumaged through their earthly possessions in order to scale down. People who
had inevitably strived their whole life to acquire and then came full circle
while trying to decide between their dining room table or the lazy boy. I
wanted to sit down and talk with each one of them. I'm positive their stories
were aching to be told, and I for one was ready to hear them out. One friendly
face who was not waiting for Easter to wear her bonnet played hymns on the baby
grand piano. I wanted to know if she used to play at church and what was her
favorite. In the craft room there were 1/2 dozen doughnut shaped bird feeders
ready to be hung outside. Each had a name attached to the red yarn. Homemade
welcome banners hung at slight angles on each door. Some were in German and
Dutch, (I think). Apostrophes pointed to the lucky couples, and I wanted to
hear boring or romantic tales of how they met. Some were lone names and made
the yearning greater, sad as it might be. There were tons of tiny flags and
armed forces memorabilia in their framed glass shadow boxes that adorned their
tiny stoops. I wanted to stop at each one and hear about every detail of these
strangers lives. I wanted to thank them if they had served in war, especially
Viet Nam. There were family pictures that instantly made me angry if the photo
participants chose not to visit or call. There were bulletin boards galore with
tons of notes directing traffic from the game room to the solarium for the
euchre tournament and calendars announcing Vive a la France tonight in the
dining room. I wondered if any of them had ever visited Paris.
Now those of you that know me, know that I
can pretty much cry at anything. I still haven't made it through Melissa's
rendition of "O Holy Night". Jen played three lines of "I'll Be Home For
Christmas" on her little borrowed keyboard and I wept uncontrollably. I'm not
ashamed to say that I could not hold back the tears during Ben's "What If" movie
when the lonely traveler walked amongst the repetitive Arlington grave markers
while searching for the answers to life. (Annie's mom cried, too). I've been
pretty blessed and don't even know if I have ever really experienced deep
emotional pain and sadness. But today as our tour came to an end, one lonely
man leaning on his walker and struggling with his mailbox key, sent wave after
wave of the sharpest non physical pain rippling to the very depths of my
stomach. He finally got the box open and slowly bent over to look into the
empty abyss. Like a bad accident, I could not look away, and my heart screamed,
"If there is a God in heaven please let there be some sort of personal letter in
that box!!!" I knew there wasn't. He knew there wasn't. But he had to make
sure and so he reached his hand in, first part way, then one more wishful reach
a little further just to make sure he hadn't missed something the mailman had
shoved to the back. Of course, I had to excuse myself from the group and made
a flimsy restroom excuse. I'm not sure why I was so affected but I'm positive
that scene will play over and over again. What am I to take from it? When will
I learn all that I am to know? Where is my journey going to take me next? Who
am I suppose to meet along the way?
I thought
today would be just another day.
Posted: Wed - March 22, 2006 at 06:50 PM