I am going to tell you a story about last Monday: I just moved into a new house a few days prior, and my new landlord had a building inspector come in to the place while I was at work. She locked the doors on her way out but forgot to leave me the new keys when I arrived home last Monday night. I knocked on her door, she answered but seemed very ill, too weak to stand but still trying to help me find the right keys. None of the keys worked, so I climbed into new house via a window into the living room, plunging headfirst to the floor. When I got up, I unlocked the front door, walked back to my landlord and helped her get to bed. I asked if she was okay and if she needed a doctor, she said no. I let her know that she could call me if she needed anything, and got on with the night.
Two nights later, I arrived home to police: she had passed away and another tenant had found her. Apparently, I was the last person to see her alive and had to ID her body, and give information to the police about her condition on that Monday night.
Now I am in a new house and have no idea who to pay my rent to. I was told to take comfort in knowing that I had given this woman some comfort in her final moments, but sometimes it’s tough to put a positive spin on unexpected circumstances.
So that’s what has taken up the majority of my thoughts the past several days.