The music I played on my piano was my last link to my late husband. But cruel neighbors shattered that joy with a hurtful message on my wall. When my granddaughter found out, she made things right, leaving those entitled neighbors scratching their heads.
“Oh, Jerry, did you love it today, darling?” I asked softly, the last notes of “Clair de Lune” filling my cozy living room as my fingers lifted from the ivory piano keys. My eyes fixed on the framed photo of my late husband, Jerry. His kind eyes seemed to twinkle back at me, just as they had for over fifty years of our marriage…
Willie, my tabby cat, stretched lazily near my feet, purring contentedly. I reached down to scratch behind his ears, feeling the familiar ache in my chest as I carefully lifted Jerry’s photo.
“I miss you so much, darling. It’s been five years, but sometimes… sometimes it feels like yesterday.”
Pressing a gentle kiss to the cool glass, I whispered, “Time for dinner, my love. I’ll play your favorite before bed, okay? ‘Moon River,’ just like always.”
As I set the frame back down, I could almost hear Jerry’s warm chuckle. “You spoil me, Bessie,” he’d say, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
I shuffled towards the kitchen, pausing to look back at the piano, my constant companion these past 72 years.
“What would I do without you?” I murmured, running my hand along its polished surface.
That night, as I lay in bed, I whispered into the darkness, “Goodnight, Jerry. I’ll see you in my dreams.”
The next morning, I was lost in Chopin’s “Nocturne in E-flat major” when a sharp rap on my window startled me. My fingers stumbled, the music cutting off abruptly.
A red-faced man glared at me through the glass. He was my new neighbor.
“Hey, lady!” he shouted, his voice muffled. “Cut out that racket! You’re keeping the whole neighborhood awake with your pathetic plinking!”
I stared at him, shocked. “I… I’m so sorry,” I stammered, even as a small voice in my head protested. It was barely 11 a.m., and none of my other neighbors had ever complained before.
The man stomped away, leaving me trembling. I closed the lid of the piano, my sanctuary suddenly feeling tainted.
The next day, I closed all the windows before sitting down to play. The music felt muffled and constrained, but I hoped it would keep the peace.
I was barely ten minutes into Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” when my doorbell rang insistently. With a heavy heart, I answered it.
A woman with pinched features glared at me. “Listen here, old lady,” she spat. “The grave’s calling, and you’re still banging on that piano? Cut the noise, or I’ll report you to the HOA!”
It was only then that I understood she was my new neighbor’s wife.
I felt like I’d been slapped. “I… I closed all the windows,” I said weakly.
“Well, it’s not enough!” she snapped, turning on her heel. “Quit making noise with your stupid piano!”
I slumped against the door frame, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, Jerry,” I whispered. “What do I do?”
I could almost hear his voice, gentle but firm. “You play, Bessie. You play your heart out. Don’t stop… for anyone.”
But as I sat at the piano, my fingers hovering over the keys, I couldn’t bring myself to press down.
Days passed, and I tried everything. I taped cardboard over the windows, played only in short bursts, even considered moving the piano to the basement where it might not be heard.
But nothing seemed to satisfy my new neighbors, the Grinches, as I’d started calling them in my head.
The thought of being separated from my cherished instrument, even by a flight of stairs, made my heart ache. This piano wasn’t just an object; it was an extension of my soul, a living connection to Jerry and our life together.
Forgetting about those bothersome neighbors for a moment, I lost myself in the music as I played the piano that night.
The next morning, I stepped outside to tend to my small herb garden. The sight that greeted me stopped me cold.
The cruel words “SHUT UP!” were spray-painted across the wall in angry red letters.
I sank to my knees and wept. “Jerry, I can’t do this anymore.”
That day, for the first time in decades, I didn’t touch my piano.
As night fell, I sat in Jerry’s armchair, clutching his photo. “I’m so sorry, my love. I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.”
The shrill ring of the telephone startled me from my thoughts. I fumbled for the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mom? It’s me,” my son Jacob’s warm voice filled the line. “How are you doing?”
I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. “Oh, I’m fine, sweetie. Just a quiet day at home.”
There was a pause. “Mom, you don’t sound fine. Is everything alright?”
I sighed, debating whether to burden him with my troubles. “It’s nothing, really. Just… some issues with the new neighbors.”
“Issues? What kind of issues?”
I found myself spilling everything… the complaints, the threats, the vandalism.
“I don’t know what to do anymore, honey. I feel so… lost.”
“Oh, Mom, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have helped.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You have your own life, your own problems.”
“Mom, you’re never a burden. Never. Your music has brought joy to so many people over the years. Remember all those Christmas parties? The school recitals you played for? You’re not a nuisance… you’re a treasure.”
“Listen, I’m going to call Melissa. She’s closer. Maybe she can come check on you. And we’ll figure this out together, okay?” Jacob finished.
As I hung up the phone, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe I wasn’t alone in this after all.
Days crawled by. My piano sat untouched, gathering dust. I felt like a part of me was withering away.
One evening, a loud knock startled me from my melancholy. I opened the door to find my granddaughter Melissa standing there, her face glowing with a warm smile.
“Surprise, Nana!” she exclaimed, enveloping me in a tight hug.
As she pulled back, her eyes widened in horror. “Nana, who did this to your wall?”
I burst into tears, the whole story spilling out between sobs. Melissa’s expression darkened with each word.
Woman turns her home into hospice for old shelter dogs so they don’t die alone
Even the dogs that may not have much time left should have a loving home. Even though younger puppies frequently take precedence over older dogs, older dogs should have a permanent home to live out their days.
However, one woman has dedicated her life to providing these elderly shelter dogs with a loving final home, converting her house into a sanctuary that is currently home to 80 senior animals.
The 44-year-old Valerie Reid of Hermitage, Missouri, was motivated to care for elderly dogs after a life event made her aware of the challenges that animals encounter as they age.
As her father battled cancer, SWNS reported that she found it difficult to find a place for her dad’s elderly Doberman. She discovered that no other rescue would take her and that she was already over the city’s pet limit, so she was unable to adopt the dog.
Because of her age, no rescue would take her home, Valerie said, “We looked everywhere for any rescue that would help.”
At last, she managed to find the Doberman a foster home on a farm that took special care of elderly dogs. The dog had a happy ending and lived in peace for an additional year and a half in their care; Valerie found inspiration from the experience that opened her eyes.
She told SWNS, “It got me thinking about what happens to senior dogs who were once beloved pets.” “I became aware of how many dogs there were in need of assistance… It is a genuinely overlooked area in the rescue industry.
Thus, in 2017, Whispering Willows elderly Dog Sanctuary—a non-profit sanctuary for elderly dogs—was established by Valerie and her spouse, Josh. They purchased a 3,000 square foot house near Hermitage, which provided ample space for dozens of canines to pass away peacefully and comfortably.
Dogs older than 12 are accepted. She said to Ozarks First, “Sometimes special needs, sometimes hospice.” “On sometimes, all they come to us for is a place to lay their head and die.”
She clarified that a large number of the dogs had histories of cruelty and neglect, citing the discovery of Peanut, a dog, chained up amid a scorching heat wave.
She said to KY3, “When they come in, they’re very broken-hearted, emotionally or physically.”
Valerie, however, states that her intention is to provide them with a sense of normalcy and trust, as well as a secure permanent residence in which to live out their last days.
“They stay once they arrive. They’re not required to go. Since this is their permanent home, they won’t experience any more stress or loss.
“They know they’re safe when they arrive.”
Over the years, the rescue has expanded significantly; according to SWNS, the hospice currently houses 80 dogs at a time and employs 17 full-time staff members to care for the dogs.
“The sanctuary really grew and expanded beyond my wildest expectations. I adore having so many tiny hearts that reciprocate our love.
According to Valerie, over the years, they have taken care of 790 pets. Because of their advanced age, the dogs frequently die—roughly five of them perish each week, while the same number are adopted.
Valerie takes delight in providing these creatures with a nice environment to pass away, even if her profession can be depressing at times.
“Our goal is to assist individuals in getting ready for their final moments; none of us can predict the future,” she stated to SWNS. We get to bid our seniors farewell in style and with affection. While loving and caring for children is an honor, it hurts nonetheless.
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