Waiting to hear a knock on the door that never comes
She sits quietly in the large, pale green gathering room of the Bridge Street Commons assissted living apartment complex. As two other residents enter the room, she anxiously looks at her watch.
It’s 5:38 p.m. on a crisp, cool Friday evening in February.
As she raises her head, she sees what she’s been waiting for. Five students from the local college come hustling into the building.
”Sorry we’re late,” said junior biblical studies major James Glisan.
”That’s okay! I’m just so happy to see you guys,” she responds.
For 84-year old, Greene County native Audrey Conklin, this is the best part of her week. She welcomes each student with a hug.
The students then sit down at the large square table in the room, while one of the other residents grabs Bibles.
Junior psychology major Nermeen Bushra sits next to Conklin and finds today’s passage for her in her personal, well-highlighted Bible filled with many small pieces of paper – obituaries of those she’s lost.
As Glisan begins the lesson for the day, Conklin grabs Nermeen’s hand.
”She’s like a daughter to me,” says Conklin. “She’s always willing to spend time with me.”
Today’s devotion comes from the book of Habakkuk. Glisan reads a few verses, then enters into a discussion about the struggles of life.
”Does anyone have moments in life when they just feel alone?” asked Glisan.
”Every day,” responded Conklin.
”But on days like this I don’t,” she adds as she looks over at Bushra and tightens her hold on Bushra’s hand.
The evening continues on with a dinner prepared by the students and is followed by a movie picked out by a resident named Rose.
As the movie ends, it is time for the students to leave.
Conklin stands at the door and gives hugs to the students as they file out the door at 8:30 p.m.
”I’ll see you next week!” shouts Bushra as she walks out the door.
”I’ll be looking forward to it!” Conklin shouts back.
Conklin then shuts the door and sits down in the gathering room.
The other residents have already headed back to their rooms.
She’s alone again.
___
On most days, Conklin sits quietly in the living room of her one bedroom apartment.
The room has a faint smell of a flowery perfume; the walls are covered in family pictures, children’s VHS tapes covered in dust are lined up on a book shelf behind her and an old record player detectably plays some Merle Haggard.
The walls that surround her reflect the love she has toward all the people that she has come in contact with.
But now she sits here alone. All of those who used to surround her are either gone or can no longer find the time to visit.
Conklin grew up here in Greene County.
This town is the only place she knows. She grew up with her brother Donald and her mother.
Her father passed away from complications from a burst appendix when she was only 15 months old.
Though she experienced the loss of her father at an early age, she still felt plenty of love growing up.
”My mother was a strong lady,” said Conklin. “She always made us feel loved and safe. I spent plenty of years playing outside with my brother and our friends. I had a pretty good childhood.”
Conklin’s face brightens with pure joy for a moment at the thought of all the childhood memories, but it quickly fades.
”They’re all gone now,” she says quietly.
There once was a time in Conklin’s life when she felt someone would never leave her.
”I remember our first date like it was just yesterday,” said Conklin.
At 17 years old, she went out with girlfriends to a local hangout spot and met a 21-year-old man named Ralph.
”I’d like to take you out for ice cream,” Conklin remembers Ralph saying.
Hesitantly, Conklin agreed.
The next night, Ralph picked her up at her house and took her for an ice cream cone.
”I remember I was so nervous that when I got into his Jeep, I tripped on the step of the Jeep and fell right into the seat,” laughed Audrey. “Luckily he didn’t see it!”
Ralph was a gentleman. He opened doors, pulled out seats and said “yes sir” and “no thank you ma’am.”
He was a bit of a cowboy, but was able to win Audrey over with his charm.
Arriving home that night, she told her mother that she would marry Ralph.
”I just fell in love with him,” said Conklin, smiling.
The two dated for three years before getting married.
The newlyweds did not waste any time and quickly had five children. Life was good for Conklin.
”We had 13 really good years together,” Conklin remembers.
Conklin was pregnant with her sixth child when Ralph’s attitude suddenly changed.
He began to spend time with a rough crowd and started staying out till all hours of the night drinking.
Conklin ended up losing the baby halfway through her pregnancy, and Ralph began drinking more and caring less.
”It started once every month, then once every two weeks, than it was every [darn] day,” said Conklin. “He was barely home for the kids and he missed out on a lot.”
Ralph would work until noon, when he would then end up at a local bar.
The drinking led to multiple affairs and a dozen or so nights filled with physical and emotional abuse to Conklin.
Even after all of that, Conklin never left her husband.
”I made a promise when I married him,” said Conklin. “I would never leave him.”
The drinking, affairs and abuse continued on for years. The kids grew up and moved away, and Conklin was left alone to deal with Ralph.
She eventually had enough, and for her safety moved into a trailer in the back yard.
During this time, Ralph was diagnosed with lung cancer at 75 years old.
Too stubborn to get treatment, the doctors gave him only months to live.
”After the diagnosis, it was the first time in many years that I saw him sober. We were finally able to talk and reconcile,” said Conklin.
”Though there was so much pain and hurt between us, I loved him until the day he died.”
___
It is a Monday night, and Conklin sits quietly in her living room. She stares at the walls covered in her family photos.
She glances at a picture of her oldest daughter, who passed away years ago. She looks at pictures of her other four children, three who have not visited in years and one who occasionally checks in on her.
She smiles at the pictures of the grandchildren. Some she’s met, others she has not.
The grandchildren who once watched the old VHS tapes are now almost old enough to have their own kids.
They are all too busy to make the time to visit. Occasionally she’ll get phone calls and cards, but nothing as good as a visit.
She now depends on the visits from the local college students.
Every Friday, she waits until 5:30 p.m. to finally feel like she is wanted.
Sadly, Conklin knows that this too will fade.
Most of those students who visit are juniors, and within another year will be graduating and moving on in life.
But for now, all she can do is wait – wait for Friday at 5:30 p.m. where she can feel not alone and for three hours forget that these young adults, like so many others in her life, will also eventually leave her.