In October of 2000, I was struck by lightning; my life changed in a flash! Although I lived through it, I ended up with a traumatic brain injury, which includes a seizure disorder and other neurological abnormalties, some of which affect me physically..
Fast forward 14 years to 2014; a nurse came to my apartment to perform an evaluation to confirm my continued need to receive Home Health services. I had invited several people to attend this meeting; they were there when the nurse arrived. By the end of the meeting the nurse had made it clear to all present, that I was still a 3 year old in a 90 year old body, so there was no sense in me even trying to do any of the things that were on the Wish List I had given her, and I was still considered homebound. I could leave my apartment without assistance, but only to venture out into my Courtyard. If I was caught leaving the courtyard without assistance, I would be putting myself at risk for involuntary placement in a nursing home.
To say that I was livid would be an understatement!
Fast forward a couple of weeks, or so; while on the phone with a neighbor, I began venting how angry I was that this nurse had had the audacity to sit in my home, and act like she was looking out for my best interest, when she knew absolutely nothing about me, other than what she read in some medical records that she had in her portable file box. These records clearly did demonstrate where I had been approximately 10 years prior; however, they reflected nothing of my then-current life.
At one point in the conversation I was crying my eyes out. My neighbor mentioned something about starting a group here, on premises. There was already a coffee social group here, that met once a week. I knew my neighbor would like to start a similar group. Even though I had no conscious idea of what I wanted to do, other than prove that nurse wrong, I knew that a coffee social group was not where I wanted to be or what I wanted to be doing.
We explored many different ideas, casting each one aside almost as fast is it presented itself. Suddenly, I looked at the wall behind my kitchen sink, and there she was ~ Queen Bee ~ a 2 ft. tall metal representation of a Queen Bee that I had bought after my mother died.
My thoughts began racing. You see, my mother had been the Queen Bee in our family. One of the very last, if not the last, conversations I had with her before she died, revolved around the topic of me assuming that role, upon her death. In the conversation, it was brought up that I will be an entirely different type of Queen Bee than her; I was as light as she had been dark, and she was the Queen Bee as in "B.I." ~ I would be the Queen Bee that worked for the good of the hive.
Back to the phone call with my neighbor, I shared my thoughts with her; she shared her thoughts with me. The more we talked, the more excited I became. By the end of our phone call we had a very vague idea of what we wanted to do, and though we really knew nothing about our hive, Senior Bees had been born.
Giving to Senior Bees is an investment in myself and my community, and an ongoing tribute to my mother.
Review from #MyGivingStory