Jailbreak!

I was reminded yesterday of a book I love, “The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared” by Jonas Jonasson. A centenarian named Allan Karlsson slips out of his nursing home window on the day of his 100th birthday and stumbles into a crazy adventure.

We were visiting Jennifer’s mother in her rehab facility for her broken femur, which feels too much like an old-fashioned nursing home, the kind of place from which Allan had to escape. Thankfully, Jennifer’s mother has a perfect track record at rehab, having done so for both her knees, both her hips, her spine, one elbow, and now, after she comes home from this stint, both her legs. She is a tough old bird.

This particular facility offers memory care, long-term “skilled nursing,” and rehabilitation for people recovering from various surgeries. The median age of its residents is, well, ancient. The exterior door is equipped with an electronic keypad, as is the door to a very pleasant courtyard. For our daily visits, we like to spend as much time in the courtyard as possible. It features a tremendous live oak with a wingspan of at least 100 feet.

The door to the courtyard is in the resident lounge. As we approached the door on our most recent visit, four other residents were loitering nearby, two in wheelchairs, one armed with a walker, and one who looked about my age with no equipment.

There is a sign on the door informing that, for safety, residents are not allowed to be unaccompanied in the courtyard. I glanced at the four, punched in the code, and wheeled Jennifer’s mom out to the walkway. We were halfway to the gazebo in the middle when I noticed Jennifer had been waylaid by the other old-timers.

Their conversation went something like this:

Gang of four, speaking to Jennifer: “Hey, can we come outside with you? We can’t go out there by ourselves.”

Jennifer, without hesitation: “I don’t see why not.”

Gang of four: “Thanks! If one of us drops dead, you have to call for help.”

While Jennifer held the door open, they immediately surged past, showing surprising speed with their wheelchairs and walkers. As the last one made her escape on her way to the fresh air, Jennifer called after them: “Jailbreak!”

She shut the door and headed out to the gazebo, where her mom and I had set up shop. But the door immediately popped back open, and a stern-looking nurse surveyed the situation, asking, “What’s going on out here?”

Jennifer jumped in, saying she had offered to be the non-resident chaperone for the folks who had asked to come outside. The nurse looked skeptical, but decided we had things under control and left us in the courtyard.

Once we were left alone, we found out that the gang had missed their opportunity to get outside earlier in the afternoon when things had gotten a little too hectic - too many had needed assistance across the facility to allow for the recreation director to accommodate their scheduled courtyard trip. So this was their first chance to get outside that day.

Jennifer’s small act of kindness towards these residents paid off for all of us. We wound up having a very engaging conversation with one of the wheelchair-bound men about his forty-plus career as a chef in the area, that and his love of nature. The woman with the walker was also eager to interject as well. I got the impression they hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to anyone new for a little while. When we all decided to head back inside, they were grateful for the chance to soak up a little sunshine and fresh air.

Later in the day, when we were leaving, Jennifer and I happened upon the same gang hanging out in the hallway. Thankfully, Jennifer had helped out; otherwise, this second encounter on the way out the door could have been awkward. They again thanked us. It was a small but meaningful human connection. Almost all of us want to be seen and heard. As in this particular case, it usually isn’t that hard to accommodate.

I have to say, it was unnerving seeing how completely dependent these people are on others. The notion that grown adults have to wait for someone else to be able to go outside - Don’t Tread On Me! Jennifer’s mom is going to have to tough it out for a few more weeks before she can get back home.

There’s another thing these places do to me, mainly because the people in them are so visibly old, and many of them are very near the end of their lives. They remind me of my own trajectory. Yes, we all know we are mortal, but most of us don’t dwell on that daily.

It made me think of a very common epitaph I first saw in a graveyard at college:

“As you are now, so once was I; As I am now, so you must be.”

Maybe so, but not nearly as fun as the epitaph in a local cemetery near us in Michigan:

“I told you I was sick!”

A friend and I in college made a pact that when we turned sixty-five, we would kill ourselves. (Come to think of it, we never discussed the logistics: I was a year older than him, so I’m not sure how that would have even worked.) At the time, sixty-five seemed old and beyond repair. What could someone that old possibly get out of life? We reneged on that pact many years ago, and I have since updated my goal to 100. If I am lucky enough to make it to 80, I will update again to 110.

Always keep moving the goalposts.