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Asleep at the Wheel

2/9/2010

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January 17, 2010 

Quite a few times I’ve had weird little "coincidences" at the Soldiers Home that I actually believe are more fateful than accidental. Once I had only half an hour to spend there, and I was hoping to see four guys, at least to say hi and tell them I’d be back later in the week. Somehow, in less than 30 minutes, I crossed paths with every one of them, separately.

Over Christmas my parents and son came with me so my mom and dad could say goodbye to Mike. Again, we were pressed for time, and it was freezing, so we were hoping we wouldn’t have to walk all around to try to find Mike. I took the long way around the parking lot, and there he was, sitting outside, almost like he was waiting for someone to drive by and shake his hand.

The same thing happened today. Nine times out of 10 I take the first left turn inside the home, but today I was behind a slow-moving car and decided to go straight. There, at the bus stop, of all places, sat Mike—again, out in the cold. It is not his usual haunt, and it was not my usual route. But there we were.

"Waiting for a bus?" I asked.

"Nope. Just for you," he said.

It turned out, though, that it wasn’t a good Mike day. He hadn’t woken up till 11.30, he said, and he’d had the "heebie jeebies" ever since. We went down to the Activities room to work on the puzzle, but he kind of drifted off and only half watched the playoff game on the big-screen TV.

I
asked him if he wanted me to try to figure out his new cellphone, and he said he’d like that, but he’d rather do it in his room.

As soon as we got there, I suggested he lie down. His eyes had been watery, and he looked beat. I didn’t have any luck with the phone, so I said I’d go work on the puzzle some more, and he could come get me when he woke up. I had two hours before I had to be home, but he never came to get me.

Luckily for me, Gary and Doug kept me company at the puzzle, but Mike slept through it all. I had told him I’d stop by on my way out, and I did, but he was sound asleep, and I didn’t want to disorient or startle him, so I left a note asking him to call when he felt better.

This is one of those days I remind myself that I’m just dropping into these people’s lives – most of the time they are not planning on my visit – and I do not have the right to feel disappointed when things don’t go the way I had envisioned. But that doesn’t mean I can’t worry about them.
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    Author
    My name is Sandy Deneau Dunham. I'm a journalist who’s worked at The Phoenix Gazette, The (Tacoma) News Tribune,  The Seattle Times, Town Hall Seattle and Pacific Lutheran University. I'm now back at The Seattle Times, as associate editor of its gorgeously glossy Pacific NW magazine. I've been a volunteer at the Washington Soldiers Home and Colony in Orting, Washington, since January 2009, and I am still a remedial videographer.   

     

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