Day 7

The A1C was “perfect” according to my FNP. It went from 6.5 to 5.5 in six weeks thanks to my protein/vegetable food plan. The scales went down six pounds too. The EKG results led to further study. Lunch was good. We went to a new restaurant. The party at Port O’Pints was noisy and crowded as it always is there. We had deep conversations in spite of the loud patrons. Only a few people ventured out for the prayer meeting. Now, quiet Saturday.

When I became part of the care and support team for Carol and Gene, I was given a key to their front door in case of emergency. It got me thinking about keys and what they mean. Giving a key to someone is giving permission to enter property. It says that the key owner is vulnerable and may need help. The doors to my house need a bunch of keys. Hollie has two to the front door, Megan has a key to the back porch and back door, two keys are needed to the sunporch door. I decided that Megan needed access to that door as well. I took the key to home depot and wandered around looking for the key duplicating machine. An employee was called to help me. He was an odd looking small statured man with a spiky hairdo and  big black button-like things in his ear lobes. He sorted through the key blanks over and over while we talked. I mentioned that I was at the age where safety was more important than it used to be and I needed family members to be able to get in any of my doors. He told me that his wife was handicapped and used a wheelchair. She locked the doors when he was at work and it worried him. What if she needed help and nobody could get in. He didn’t know the neighbors well enough to ask them if they would hold a key. It became an almost intimate conversation and I noticed that our heads came close to each other. We talked about who to trust with keys and finally he found the correct blank and I had my spare key for Megan. It was a conversation that reminded me of the importance of listening and acknowledging our shared journey. Everybody has a story.

When I was volunteering at the police department, one of my jobs was taking money for fines and writing receipts. One day a guy kept tapping the window with a key while I was writing. I handed him the receipt and asked what was with the key noise. I have a key, he nearly shouted. I have a place to go in and live. He said daily bread ministry has turned him around, helped him make new friends and he was on his way to a clean and sober life. The key was a symbol of a home as well as the reality of his changes.