Closing the Door to the World
It is Wednesday again, how quick the weeks seem to fly by. Regardless of the COVID virus, Wednesday is the day they both look forward to, it is their rostered day to deliver meals for Meals on Wheels organisation.
They have had the same roster since they started volunteering nearly six years ago, they know the people they visit, and can tell if they are not well, or just lonely, by the way they are greeted. Sometimes it is just that friendly smile, a chat, and knowing someone will drop by to say “hello”, plus and the delivery of a nutritious meal, is all that some folks need.
They always like to arrive at the Meals on Wheels rooms about an hour prior to their journey around town, allowing them to have a coffee and cake with the other volunteers. The kitchen crew bake scones, muffins or cakes especially for the volunteers, a treat before they embark on their journey to deliver the food.
The same group of people sit at the tables every week. Her husband sits with about six other men, they talk of politics, or cars, or other “men things”. She has her spot next to a lady who has been delivering the meals for nearly twenty years, and again, she has the same run with the same people, knowing them by their first names and happy to spend a couple of minutes chatting with them.
The conversation at the ladies table seems to revolve around children and grandchildren, what the latest grandchild is up to, and how the COVID virus has changed how they now live, their freedom severely curbed. The ladies talk of the old times, when freedom was the “norm”, now lockdowns are the “norm”, and they all agree they would rather live in the olden times than these days.
The oldest volunteer is a lady who is about eighty-three years of age, her driving mate with whom she has been delivering meals for close to thirty years is about seventy-five. It seems now they have lots of “olden day” stories to tell, declaring they don’t like this new “vaccine” and worry “what will become of us all if and when the virus is rampant in our little town”.
The meals are wheeled out to the waiting volunteers in big eskies, hot meals, cold salads, soups, sandwiches, cheese and biscuits, fruit and deserts. They trundle to their cars, wishing each other a cheery “good-bye” and safe trip around the town with their precious commodities.
They stop their car at the first of their six deliveries. Her husband is nearly blind, and has Parkinson disease, but likes to know he is helping someone who is worse off than him. He gets slowly out of the car, gingerly making his way around to the back of the car, to start getting the food from the eskies, checking it off carefully as he goes. This is his job; her job is to deliver the food to the people. She takes the basket of food and is on her way.
Irene greets her with a cheery “hello” and receives one back. Irene is on her walker today, so maybe she is not feeling that well. As she lives on her own, she is always ready for a chat, just to have that human contact is for the homebound more rewarding that a day out shopping or lunching with friends. Irene tells her she is an artist, and of course, they chat about art, and she admits she wishes she too could paint. Irene gives her the phone number of the art class teacher, telling her to give her a ring, and organise to come along to their group if she would like to. She is seriously considering it; maybe this is a skill she did not know she had.
Today, the food is placed on the tray outside the door. On non- lockdown days, she would take the food into the house and place it on the mat, ready for Irene to have her lunch. Irene would show her a few of the photos sitting proudly on the china cabinet, telling her the stories of the people who are her nearest and dearest. Irene mentions her scarf, says how lovely it is, she tells her she does not remember where she picked it up from, but it is so warm, and keeps the cold from creeping down her back. Irene laughs, wishes her a cheery “good-bye”, and closes her door to the world.
Arriving back at the car, they sanitise their hands, before starting off again to deliver the food to the next person on their list.
Their second stop is Jean, who usually has a salad for her lunch, even in the coldest day; she says she loves the crispness of the lettuce and crunch of the tomato. As this is a “lockdown” day, Jean greets her from behind the security screen. She places the food on the tray provided outside the door, and again has a chat with her, noting the beautiful photos of her grandchildren proudly hung on the wall.
Jean is always cheery, however she knows it is quite an effort for her to get out of her lounge chair to slowly, with the help of her walker, come to the door. For Jean it is well worth the pain of walking to the door to greet her. This little charade of dropping the meal off and having a chat with Jean, and of someone admiring photos of her grandchildren may not be part of the volunteers job description, but she knows these little things add up to a very big thing in Jean’s life, having someone share part of her day. Again, the food is there for her to eat, Jean will open the door once she is gone, retrieve her food, and close the door to the world.
Not far from there is their third stop, Joe, who is disabled. He does not say much, but always glad to see her, he is grateful that he has someone who cares enough to bring him food. He is concerned as to when the lockdown will be over, will he be able to get to the shops soon, she tells him she is unsure, and wishes him a good day. He closes the door behind her, and she worries that he will possibly just wander outside not knowing he should not be there.
Her husband is patiently waiting at the car for her; he knows they both must be careful. Hands are sanitised, and off they go again. They stop at the next home, and as she takes the basket, they look at each other questioningly. Will Lizzie open the door for them today, and take the food, or declare she is not hungry; or she has no money to pay for it, and seem disoriented as she tries to explain to Lizzie that she is from Meals on Wheels, with some lunch for her.
This day, however, Lizzie answers the door quickly, this is a good sign. She hands her the food, and again Lizzie asks where she is from, who pays for the food. Dementia is a shocking disease, and she sees it on a weekly basis when she visits this darling old dear. She can see she is limping, and asks what is wrong with her foot; Lizzie takes her slipper off and shows her the sores on her foot. She commiserates with Lizzie, and suggests that perhaps the food will help, encouraging her to eat the food while it is hot. Lizzie smiles, thanks her again, and closes and door to the world.
She makes her way back to the car, smiling and nodding to her husband that “yes” she took the food. A good delivery today, sometimes it takes time with this dear old lady, having to repeat herself several times till she seems to understand. But today it appears she was a little more aware of what was going on. Hands are sanitized, and off they go again.
Just down the road is their second last delivery, Jack and Elsie. They have a beautiful black ragdoll cat, Billy, which sits on the stairs, as if waiting for her to arrive. Elsie told her once that Billie is seventeen years old. He knows when the door is opened, he can slink inside. She delivers hot food and sandwiches, and they are grateful they have someone who cares enough about their welfare. They always have a smile on their faces, and are always dressed in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. She guesses they do not have any reason to change their clothes, they do not intend to leave their house in these trying times. They take the food and close the door on the outside world, scared if it is open for too long, the tentacles of virus may creep into their home leaving sickness in its wake.
Back to the car she goes, for the hand sanitizing ritual again, which is starting to get a little annoying by this stage.
Their run is nearly over, only one more delivery to go. Des and Gwen live in a high-set house, so it is a bit of a struggle for her to get to the top. Gwen is severely disabled from a stroke which immobilized her about ten years ago, and Jim struggles with diabetes, with numerous ulcers on his legs. However, they seem to survive with help from people like me and others who come and clean their house and assist them in other ways. She gives them their food, and slowly makes her way back to the car, the deliveries are all completed, their last hand sanitizing ritual is finished, they can return the eskies, and their volunteering day has come to an end.
They normally go for lunch somewhere after their volunteering excursion, but this day, because of the lockdown, it is take-away from the local fish and chip shop. Once home, they relax, and feel grateful they are the people who deliver the food, still able to look after themselves and give something back to the community. They both agree that one day, they may need help in this way, and know that once that day comes, they too will be the couple who take the food, have a quick chat with the volunteer, and close the door to the world.