I’ve spent the past 45 minutes being a nosy neighbor, peering through the slats of my blinds.
Actually, I’m not sure I can characterize myself as nosy, because I’ve been unwillingly pulled into my crazy neighbor’s story. It would be more accurate to say that I have a stake in the outcome.
And when I say crazy, I don’t mean outrageous partying or wild behavior. I mean dementia.
I don’t know my neighbor’s past, or what to believe about what she has told me during the past three-and-a-half years. She has been very nice to me. She has a cat, but other than that animal, nobody else in her life. The cat impressed me as being fat and unhappy. My neighbor does not have any family or, to hear her tell it, friends. I have not seen any evidence to the contrary. She told me she used to be married and her husband died, but circumstantial evidence suggests that is not true.
Approximately two years ago, she wrecked her car. That was the end of her driving days. I helped her once by taking her to the pharmacy to get a prescription refill. Otherwise, she has someone who does her grocery shopping for her.
I have helped her in other ways, as well. She thinks I’m an angel. I’m just trying to be a good neighbor, and I am not trying to curry favor with anybody.
Red Flag
Several weeks ago, I received my first red flag about her dementia. We were chatting outside our condominiums. She tends to ambush me when I go to my car — I think she’s so lonely she watches out the window for familiar faces. After our chat, I turned to re-enter my home to get something I had forgotten. She said, “Oh, I didn’t know you lived there!”
Well, of course I live here, I thought. That’s the only way you know me.
Then, last night happened.
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