The Meadows

Robert Slaughter was 82 years old when his daughter moved him into The Meadows Nursing Facility. With all of his health problems piling up, it was just out of the question for him to live on his own any longer. His house was sold and his belongings were taken to The Good Will. Everything but a photo of his wife Myra, who had long since passed away, a Johnny Cash CD that his son gave him, a portable CD player, headphones, and his watch.

Every morning, Mr. Slaughter woke up, kissed the picture of Myra, put on his watch and headphones, turned the CD player on, waited, tapped it a few times, and then shut it off and put it back in the box, thoroughly dissatisfied. He would complain to the nurses that "They just don't make things the way they used to anymore." They grew tired of hearing the same speech about it everyday. "You should just get rid of the thing, Mr. Slaughter. It's of no use to you anymore!" they would tell him. But he wouldn't hear a word of it. Back into the drawer it went, and he'd try again the next morning.

Mr. Slaughter shared a room with a man named Paul Benedict. Mr. Benedict had been at The Meadows for 14 months and had settled into a routine of watching Fox News all day from his bed with the volume at a level so high that the nurses could hear it from their station in the center of the building. But they knew better than to go and turn it down. One of the CNA's had done that once and ended up covered in various pureed lunch items from his tray. Watching television was Mr. Benedict's one passion. And when you live in a place like The Meadows, being passionate about something can mean the difference between life and death. So the nurses turned a blind eye, and Mr. Slaughter seemed not to mind the volume either... for the most part.

The two men generally got along just fine. Except for the occasional instance when Mr. Benedict would turn on the TV and Mr. Slaughter would holler over to him, "Hey why don't you turn that damned thing up a little more!" That would really set Mr. Benedict off. Luckily for Mr. Slaughter, their beds were far enough apart that the applesauce wouldn't reach him. He completely ignored the ranting coming from the other side of the room and instead gazed at his photo of Myra. Of course being ignored would only rile Mr. Benedict up more, but after a while he'd wear himself out. They'd both take a nap and all would be forgotten once they woke up again.

The day Mr. Slaughter died was the first time Paul Benedict got out of his bed on his own in over 8 months. He had become so complacent with the routine of watching television all day and only getting out of bed when the nurses came to take him to the shower, or for a weekly activity. Although he and his newly deceased roommate had never been close, there was a palpable, new stillness in the room. Robert Slaughter's sudden absence quickly became a wake up call to Mr. Benedict. He now felt both loneliness and enlightenment with the loss of his roommate.

His walker made a clink-shhhh sound to the slow, even rhythm of Mr. Benedict's steps as he made his way over to the empty bed. As he looked around at Mr. Slaughter's side of the room, he regretted not getting to know him better while he had the chance. The few times that he had tried to converse with Mr. Slaughter, he was ignored. "All he ever did was stare at that damned picture," Mr. Benedict said as he made his way over to the photo. He held it up and studied the woman in the photo. "Beautiful," he said to himself, and then the thought crossed his mind that she had never come to visit. "She must have passed, too. What a shame." He felt silly for not using his time more wisely when life was obviously fleeting. He resolved to get too know Mr. Slaughter as best he could by looking at his belongings. He felt an urgency to know something about this man whose death had inspired him to live more consciously. He opened the nightstand drawer and inside he found a set of headphones, a portable CD player, an old watch with a worn leather wrist band, and a Johnny Cash CD. "Well you sure didn't leave me much to work with, Slaughter," he said in frustration as he reached his hand to the very back of the drawer, trying to find something meaningful and telling...

Nothing.

Mr. Benedict was just pulling his hand back out of the drawer when his fingers brushed against something small, hidden in the corner. He quickly retrieved it, feeling like he had discovered a small hidden treasure that potentially could unlock the mystery that was Robert Slaughter. He grinned as he opened his hand to examine what he had found.

And that's when it all made sense.

Paul Benedict was holding a thoroughly unused hearing aid.