Last night I remembered that my neighbor had told me about Fair Oaks Presbyterian Church, and that we could go together if I liked the church. So I gave her a call. She didn't remember me, so I reminded her that I had met her at our mailboxes. It took a while to explain to her that I lived right across from her. It took even longer to spell my last name to her---about 10 minutes. I summoned all the patience that I had to restart and restart the spelling of my name. It was quite a grating experience. In the end we decided to meet at the mailboxes at 8:30 am.
Before 8:30 am I walked outside to wait for her. Then I saw her walk by toward the front gates of our community, so I chased after her yelling her name. She didn't hear me. When I caught up to her, she thought that I lived outside the gated community and was meeting her outside the gates. During our discussion I found that she was 94 years old. She might be losing it, but boy was she moving well at 94 years old.
Her driver that takes her to the church arrived at 8:45 am, so I had quite a chat with my neighbor. She said that she had always been a tomboy and kept active. Her son was inheriting the house when she dies. Her other son lives in Watsonville, so he doesn't care about the house. Both her sons visit her often. How wonderful! She stopped driving, because she didn't want anyone to sue her and take the money that her husband had saved up to take care of her. Her husband had also instructed her to never move, because this was a safe community for a single woman.
Well, if this BRCA 1 gene mutation which causes my tumor suppressant system to fail doesn't take me out prematurely, I could remain active like her and live a long time. I just don't know if I'd want to do that. I'd have to endure a lot of friends and family dying before me. I might have to even endure losing a love of my life, if I'm lucky enough to ever experience that.
Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of our church driver. I felt guilty getting a ride to church when I could drive myself, but we were heading to the same place. I carefully opened the door for my older neighbor and made sure her seat was buckled before I closed her door. My neighbor started chatting with the driver who she hadn't met before. She introduced me to the driver using my first name, then asked me to spell my last name.
Remembering the harrowing experience of spelling my last name the night before, I just said, "It's a very long, German last name and too difficult to spell." I felt badly that I lacked any patience for her failing memory and hearing while going to church. Fortunately, my neighbor remarked that her Dutch maiden name was also quite difficult to spell. At least she'll forget all about me by tomorrow I'm sure!
Upon our return from church she showed me her home. It was smaller than mine. She couldn't believe that I lived in such a large home by myself. That seems to be the consensus in my community that a single woman shouldn't be living alone in a 2000 sq. ft. home. She went as far as to try to sell me her place. I guess that she forgot that her husband told her not to move and her son wanted it. lol
Once I excused myself from her home after quite a long conversation and viewing her portraits of her husband and family, I was still glad that I went to church with her. It let me understand what my mother did when she drove older people to Fremont Presbyterian Church. It made me appreciate my good health and healthy lifestyle. It made me appreciate my family photos and the love of a good man. Now I just have to find that good man. At least I'm in no hurry, and I have plenty of room for him when I find him apparently. lol
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