I was on a step stool trying to throw a sheet over my bedroom window when I heard a noise outside.
I peeked out before I went out and was relieved to find one of Altadena’s finest checking out my backyard. The Sheriff’s Department has been providing this service since the fires two months ago to those of us not back in our homes yet.
After two months, I was familiar with the drill and went inside to get my driver’s license for ID. My car was parked in the driveway and he had already checked my plates so he knew I lived at the house.
He asked what I was doing on a ladder and noted it was not safe for someone my age.
Wait, did he really think I looked that old?
I explained I was getting ready to move back to my home, but all the window coverings and carpets had been removed by a remediation team due to smoke and ash damage. So I was trying to conjure up some privacy until I could get them replaced.
“Smart move,” he said. “Stay safe,” he continued and I thanked him for helping make my safety possible. Then he asked the magic question: “Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
Five minutes later, he was on my step stool covering the upper part of the window, which was too high for me to reach.
When I expressed my appreciation, he said he hoped someone would do the same for his mother if he wasn’t around to help.
Suddenly, I was fine with his looking at me as his mother.
It reminded me of a similar story about my own mother. When I was living in New York, Mom called to say my dad was in the hospital. He was doing better and, as she visited him every day, she had gotten to know a young woman, about my age, in the room across the hall, who had an unexpected surgery and had no family close by. Mom started visiting her and dropping off magazines and little treats.
“That’s so kind of you,” I said, impressed by how much she was helping this young woman. Mom responded that if I was ever alone and needed help she hoped someone would do the same for me.
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