This is a sad note about a fond friend’s passing. My heart is hurting and I am sad, but such is the situation when you look after LOLITS. Here’s what happened and why I am grieving…

…Ten years ago, my aunt who I was looking after asked me if I would help a friend of hers by taking her grocery shopping when I went shopping for my aunt. Sure, no problem. That is how I first met Mary.

I arrived at Mary’s house, and she came bounding out the door in sneakers. Well, she called them “tennis shoes” and thus began a laugh among us when she said, “Hi, I’m your LOLITS of the day!”

I asked, “what’s a LOLITS?” to which Mary replied, “little old lady in tennis shoes” then laughed the most hearty of laughs.

Mary had a fun disposition and wry sense of humor. She loved to sing. As we began a routine of grocery shopping together, Mary usually was first in and last out. She loved meeting other people and “going along for the ride, even though I don’t need much.” And yes, there were times that she bought just a half-gallon of milk and said that she had everything else. (Though most of the time, she bought fresh foods and staples. There were times, though, that she didn’t need anything but wanted company.)

Mary’s husband had served in World War II, and she worked on the home front. She lived in the same house and neighborhood where she and her husband of some 55 years raised two sons and a daughter, all now grown and gone. Her husband passed away 10 years ago and that’s why Mary needed some help. Mary loved doting on grandchildren when they visited, which was not frequent. But their visits were never to occur on days when we would go shopping! How she loved our outings. Rain, sun, snow; hot, cold, wet; whatever… she was one of my “regulars.”

Mary’s love of singing was something that we all enjoyed. For no reason other than Mary was a genuinely happy person, she would break out into song. She had a lovely voice. Her singing would often brighten our shopping trips. And Mary did not confine her singing to the LOLITS in my truck. She would sing inside the grocery store, as well. Most people just gave her a look like, “there’s another crazy old woman,” but I knew better. She was singing to bring sunshine to an otherwise dreary, mundane experience and the people in the store.

For at least the last six years, Mary’s initiated a “flash mob” of fellow LOLITS to meet me at the grocery store when I was there with others at random, unexpected times. She would arrange for these singers to serenade me with Christmas carols, Happy Birthday wishes, or “Thank you for Being a Friend.” I would often smile the biggest smile as well as shed tears.

Mary also was (shhh… don’t tell the others) the only sr. pal who I let stay all day — all 14 hours — on Thanksgiving for our annual “no senior ever is alone on Thanksgiving” potluck bash. Because our house can’t hold zillions of people at a time, we move people through in 3-hour shifts so everyone has a chance to enjoy, but not be crowded. All except Mary. Mary stayed because she played the piano and sang to entertain all of our guests. How I loved having her do that for us, and with us. I would sing and sing and sing all day long, thanks to Mary and her extensive repertoire of music.

Just last Saturday, I picked up Mary (first, of course) and three other LOLITS and did our usual shopping trip. Mary was her usual singing self. When I brought her back home after the others and carried her groceries inside, she gave me a hug and said, “which day next week?” We made plans, as usual, for our next trip.

However, as is the situation with elderly people, Mary tried to hide medical conditions from her family. I think I knew more about her current health situation than her family did. I was concerned lately because Mary’s energy level, skin color, and other indicators were off. She was still cheerful, but moving more slowly and while she was never one to complain, I could tell that she was not feeling that well. I gently asked what was the matter, but she would not tell me very much.

In January, I asked when she last saw her doctor, and she admitted that “it’s been a while.” I asked her to make an appointment, which she did, but it was for early March, supposedly the earliest available time.

I began to call Mary on the phone during the week to check up on her. Calls were brief with “I’m okay, this is what I had for dinner” or questions about me and how my spouse is doing, but little about her ongoing health.

Then it happened; my worst fear.

I called her on Tuesday after I got home from work. She didn’t answer the phone. Since she does not drive, I knew that she should be home. I tried calling again a half-hour later. No answer. I got worried.

I discussed the situation with my spouse. I thought of calling her daughter, but did not have her phone number. My spouse agreed with me that I should go check on Mary.

I drove over there… the house was dark and quiet. I rang the bell and knocked. No answer.

I tried the knob, and the door was unlocked and opened. I called out her name. No reply.

I heard the TV on in the living room. I looked inside, and there Mary was… on the sofa. I could tell that she was dead. She was not breathing and her color was dark grey.

Having been through this before with finding my mother who died alone, I knew that I shouldn’t touch anything, but call the police. I made the call and two officers arrived quickly. They confirmed that Mary was dead. I was already crying, but now the tears flowed fast. One of the officers hugged me, and helped me regain my composure.

I found Mary’s telephone book next to the phone, and called her daughter who is the only child who lives in our state. I just said that she should come to her Mom’s home immediately, but didn’t say (exactly) what happened. Her daughter is a bright woman; she knew.

Mary’s daughter arrived about a half-hour later. The police called the coroner who sent someone to pronounce death. Then Mary’s daughter called a funeral home, and they came to pick up Mary’s body.

It was surreal and heartbreaking. Mary’s daughter felt so guilty that she had not spoken with her Mom in a week and that I was the one to have found her. But she said that if it had to be anyone else, she was happy that it was me because she knew how close Mary and I were as friends.

As I said in the title of this post, dealing with this type of situation can happen when you look after little old ladies. I love ’em all.

Dear loyal blog readers: if you have elderly people in your life — parents, aunts/uncles, close friends — call them. Pay an overdue visit. Tell them that you love them. Why?

Life is short: show those you love how you love them.