I had an apartment. I had a son. He was born at 7½ months and sickly. I checked in to the hospital with him and never left his side. My son passed away five days before his birthday. That was a double dose. For anybody who has ever lost a child, they mourn the birthday and they mourn the death. I lost my apartment, but I didn’t really care. I kind of checked out.
In the shelter there was no kitchen, only a microwave. It’s a lot of TV dinners, processed things, which is not good for me because I’m a diabetic. I bought cold cuts, cereals, milk, peanut butter, jelly, but how can you live off that?
I came to Praxis to get out of the shelter. It could have been a cardboard box in the park, as long as it wasn’t the shelter. But I love this building. I’m in awe of my apartment. My husband John is here with me. I got a lease. I got keys. I can do things. If I go to Virginia to see my brother and sister that lives there, I don’t have to worry.
I like the staff, period. They keep the building clean. You’ve got any concerns, that door is always open, you can talk to any one of them.
I don’t think about the future. I haven’t been here a year. I love my apartment. My doctor is down the hill. I’m adjusted to it, I’m used to the area, the supermarkets. I made a little routine out of it.
