Lonely People Need Meals on Wheels and someone to check on them.

Glenda and Barry walking up a trail
in the woods

Two Buttermilks for Pamela by Glenda Council Beall - Your Daily Poem

Soon after Barry retired, we signed up to work with Meals on Wheels. We enjoyed being together as we drove over mountain roads and found little frame houses sitting back in a cove or holler. We began our days going to the Senior Center in Hayesville, NC where we lived. There we picked up a couple of thermal carriers that held carefully wrapped hot meals, and also a cooler that kept drinks and certain foods cold until we delivered them. 

It was an experience I will never forget and people I will always remember. In my poem, Two Buttermilks for Pamela, you learn about one of the dear people who will always be in my heart. Now that I am growing nearer her age, those memories take on a deeper meaning. 

Sadly, too many people live alone in the mountains and never see anyone but the people who deliver meals. This past summer, a woman and her dog were found dead in her home. The bodies had been there for days and no one had known. She probably fell and could not reach anyone for help. It could happen to anyone who lives alone and has no one to check on them.

Once when we delivered a meal, we found a woman who had fallen and she could not get up or reach a phone to call for help. "I knew you would be coming soon," she said. "I wasn't worried."

That is one of the reasons I made the decision to live with family in Roswell, GA.

During the pandemic, I realized how alone I was because I did not go out around other people and there were weeks I never saw another human being. I talked on the phone but did not see anyone.

As Thanksgiving approaches this week, I am grateful I have loved ones who care about me. When I arrived at my apartment in my sister's and brother-in-law's house, I found a beautiful Christmas cactus waiting for me. Stu had bought it while Gay was up in NC helping me pack to come back. 

Those who know me well, know I am a people person. 

I thrive on being and talking with others. Here in my comfortable apartment, I visit with Gay every day and often see my niece, Lee. It is the best thing for me to do now. I will miss my dear mountain home and close friends. But until I sell my house, I will go back to visit often. 

My dear readers, for those in the United States, have a safe and thankful holiday this week. For those in other places, I am grateful for you who read my posts and for the words you leave me.  

Two Buttermilks for Pamela

We all need connections with other people. Listening to Pope Francis talking to children who live in difficult situations, some homeless, some who have lost parents, I was struck with his emphasis on staying connected with others.

I thought about the many elderly or ill people who are home-bound or have no family near. Often their sons or daughters are busy with their own lives, their children, and don't seem to have time to visit. Popping a head in the door to say, "Are you all right?" is not a visit. 

After my mother, age 70, recovered from an aneurysm that left her unable to drive and with no short-term memory, she still enjoyed her children's visits. Some found it hard to spend time with her because of her loss of memory. I was fortunate that she and I could talk and we loved being together. My sister, Gay, and I often took Mother to the Dairy Queen where she ordered a banana split. She could not eat it all, but it was her favorite and, even though we reminded her that she could not eat all of it, she insisted the banana split was what she wanted. 

My mother in blue and her sister. They had the same birthday, two years apart

The last ten years of my mother's life had a large gap where something was missing. Her brain swelled from the hemorrhage that took place in her artery. She almost died. 

When she lived, to the surprise of her doctors, we took her home and began to program her brain with pictures and tales that eventually brought her back to a place where she knew our names and recognized her home. We had to tell her that her parents and many of her siblings were dead. It broke my heart when she cried. She lived those losses all over again because she didn't remember their passing. 

Her memory of her childhood and even early marriage was vivid, so we talked about what she could tell me. Because I am curious and ask questions, I heard all of her stories. She told me about the dance parties in the community each Saturday night when she was young. 

"They rolled up the rug and pushed the chairs back against the wall," Mother said. I could see the joy in her eyes when she remembered those happy times. She smiled as she talked. "Coy would walk me to the dance, but he wouldn't dance with me. It was fine with me. I had plenty of boys who asked and I danced until the party ended. Then, Coy walked me to my house. If we stayed on the front porch too long, Mama let us know."

Coy was my father so I knew, even though he didn't dance, they fell in love. He asked her to marry him when she was eighteen. 

Mother knew the history of my father's family as well as she knew her own.  I learned about my aunts and uncles on both sides. She told me about her little brother who died, and how her mother became very protective of her next son, my uncle Rudolph. The entire family adored Rudy and I understood why. When Mother was in Intensive Care and didn't know anyone, he came to the hospital and visited her often. I can still see him, tall and thin, a slight smile on his face, standing beside her bed feeding her like she was a baby. She didn't know his name, but she knew she loved him and he loved her. I could tell by the trusting way she looked up at him as he spooned soup into her mouth. 

I was fortunate to come from a loving family and to know that being connected to others is healthy and important to living a long life. For several years Barry and I delivered Meals on Wheels to men and women living alone here in the mountains. Some of them could no longer cook for themselves and the hot meal they received every day gave them the nutrition they might not have received if left on their own. However, I think the most important part of delivering those meals was going inside, giving a hug, speaking with them, and letting them know someone cared. I think we had a few on our route who saw no one all day other than the people who delivered the meals. 

Just that connection brightened their days. All the television in the world cannot replace human touch and a human voice. Even telephone calls cannot replace the visit of someone who cares. 

I wrote a poem about one of the women we saw each month. She was ninety and still able to live alone. I often think about Pamela. You can find that poem here. 

If you have the time and are able, delivering Meals on Wheels in your community is a very worthwhile program.