I usually don’t talk about what goes on at the apartment complex here. For those who don’t know, I manage (read “babysit”) things here and get a break on rent … a perfect arrangement as I work from a home office anyway. It really means doing some shoveling, salting, or riding the lawn mower now and then, with the occasional lock-out or complaint-taking duty.
No details will be given here for the same reason I don’t usually write about it — the confidentiality of the tenants — but here is the short version: During dinner last night, I checked on a tenant and found them dead. I never found someone dead before. Lacking experience, I was unsure at first if my suspicions were correct, and my assessment (skin color and temperature, no visible pulse) was accurate until I searched her wrists for a medic-alert bracelet and was unable to move one of her arms.
They were a newer tenant whom I do not believe I had met personally, and she was face down on her bed so I didn’t see her face. Someone she knew was with me, which is probably why I didn’t freak … someone needed to be in control and comfort her, talk to the police, etc.. But it still doesn’t fully register, and I think I’m only nominally shaken by it. It just doesn’t seem real to me, or I’m shut off from my emotions about it, at least for now. I think I’ll pray on it.