Death Threats from Old People

A woman who lives at the assisted living facility on our street routinely tries to enlist me in plotting her escape. She comes out to the patio and asks me for help, and on a handful of occasions she has tapped on the windows to get my attention. I can read her lips. She wants out.

The other day I was out with Marti, waiting for Alan to join me when “Silvia” started doing slow laps around the patio.

Lap 1
Silvia: “Help me….they’re trying to kill me.”
Me: I’m sure no one’s trying to kill you. Say hi to Marti!

Lap 2
Silvia: “Help me….They’re all crazy.”
Me: Can’t argue with that. Look, Marti’s eating a stick!

Lap 3
Silvia: “Help me…take me home.”
Me: More Marti jabber.

By lap 4, Alan was outside with me and I warned him to be prepared. She asked me to take her home and I told her that I couldn’t do anything to help, and she said, “No, you sure can’t,” almost sarcastically, like I was withholding help to spite her.

Alan was a little nervous, and I’ll admit that being around people with dementia isn’t easy. But as I’m always over there with Marti, I’m more used to it. As we headed back home, I hear, “I hope he kills you.” Now, I could be wrong. Silvia was on the far end of her lap, but seeing as how she had already mentioned people trying to kill her, I’m almost positive I’m not putting words in her mouth.

So, Sherlock Holmes that I am, I finally looked up the facility and confirmed that they cater to those with dementia and Alzheimer’s. It made me feel a little better about the death-murder wish upon me. I just pray that if my mind ever goes, my body quickly follows.