Em

My 90-year-old mother has a dear friend, Em, whom she’s known since childhood. Em was the oldest of a large family and she assumed a great deal of responsibility for the care of her brothers and sisters while she was still a teenager. Her youngest brother is the same age as me, a generation younger than Mom and Em. Many of her siblings still live near her, and she’s now related to great swaths of local people by blood, and more by friendship. Em raised a large family on her own after her first husband died young and a second husband abandoned her and the children, including a daughter, Jenny, with Down syndrome. Jenny lived with Em until Em was in her late 80’s, when she could no longer pick Jenny up from the floor when she began falling down. Even after Jenny relocated to a long term care facility, Em, who still drives herself to daily Mass, spent eight hours a day with her, until Jenny passed away several months ago. Em also worked for many years at a social service agency helping elderly people and their families find the resources they needed. Time for a well-deserved retirement, right?

But, no. Mom told me yesterday that Em’s son had called to let her know that Em’s condo had recently burned down. A police officer, passing by during the night, had spotted flames shooting out of the roof of the complex. Six elderly residents, including Em, were roused from their beds and hustled to a nearby building, while firefighters vainly tried to save their homes. Em’s first reaction, we learned, had been terror at the heat and roar of the fire, and then . . . gratitude. Nobody had been hurt. And, she had insurance. And, what a blessing, Jenny had been spared having to go through the fire, which would have devastated her.

Em’s currently living in a motel room, but as insurance and business matters are being resolved, she plans to visit a daughter in California for a couple of weeks and then travel to Seattle to stay with a son for another couple of weeks. Em wondered if she might come visit my mother at her retirement complex during this hiatus, too.

Em’s not quite sure where she’ll end up living permanently, though I’m rooting for an independent senior citizen retirement apartment complex in her hometown. She still drives, which she probably wouldn’t be able to do in Seattle or California, and she has oodles of relatives and friends nearby, whereas, if she moved near one of her adult children, her kids would be at work all day and she’d be sitting alone in an apartment, twiddling her thumbs. Of course, I know little of the situation, and it’s none of my business, but that never stops me.

I am realizing as I write this that Em is well positioned to overcome this latest challenge. She’s has never been about the stuff she owns. She’s been about being the oldest sister in a struggling family, then the indomitable mother of her own children, a social service worker serving other troubled families, the devoutest of Catholics, who still visits a nursing home to comfort “the old folks.” She’s lost everything . . . and nothing at all.

Nearly 91, who knows how long Em has left? But, as an old man once told me long ago, “it don’t make no nevermind.”

The woman has everything.