The Last Warden

For years I would pass by the building when I took that particular way home from work.

Always the same.

Gate closed, windows dark, building abandoned.

But not this time.

This time there was a real estate for sale sign on the corner.

I knew that day was coming as it was the perfect site for something else. A corner lot on the main road, two blocks from the train station and lots of parking.

The perfect building to demolish and put up luxury apartment rentals.

They were finally doing it.

I parked on the corner and walked the grounds against a flood of memories.

It had been ten years since I left.

They are going to tear this down was all I could think about.

The door on the side to the main hall was the secret that everybody knew about. If you turned the handle a certain way, lifted the door and gave it a push with your shoulder it popped right open.

If you forgot your key before the service or needed something during the week you had a way in.

Ten years later the door still opened.

Did the electric even still work? I didn’t put the lights on as I didn’t want to attract attention from the outside. It wasn’t a problem as I had navigated the stairs and hallway hundreds of times over the years.

Entering from the back I froze.

Not only was everything the same, it was all laid our for the next service, a service that never came.

In the sacristy everything was laid out and the record book recorded the last service.

Navigating my memories I wanted to stay and linger, but I was worried somebody from the street would see me through the windows, that any minute the police would show up.

Technically was I trespassing?

I could show them my ID and that my name is prominently etched on a wall for years of service.

Best I leave.

It was habit to close the door the same way so it would work for the next person, only there was not going to be a next person.

I decided to leave using the back path which would exit behind the building just in-case anybody was watching.

The entire memorial behind the building was gone.

Gone as in smashed open.

Dozed over.

Missing.

They had all been formative during my years there, larger than life, always encouraging, eternal. Time caught up to all of us, I was no different, as here I was standing there in a place and time I could never imagine all those year ago.

Anger.

That is what I felt.

Anger.

They gave everything for as long as they could, some giving over their life savings to keep it going. A promise that if that was done, if cuts were taken, sacrifices made the leadership in that far away place would keep it going, pay for it, if it came to that place.

And did they?

When the money ran out, the money handed over to that far away place, they closed it anyway.

Put those that were left out on the street.

When my anger subsided a few days later, and my mind was clearer it was time to get to work. I owed them that even if I wanted to shrug off my duty.

I did walk away, but I never resigned, which at this point technically left me as the last man standing. 

I wasn’t surprised when they didn’t reply to any of my emails. Maybe they went to spam, maybe they never got passed up the way, probably they just got deleted as the building was sold and they had gotten the money.

Targeted letters were next, signed with my official title, one they would recognize the gravity of.

I was a bit surprised when the weeks turned to months and I never got a response.

All that was left was to physically show up.

I was respectful and let the gatekeepers know that all I was asking is what happened to them, where did they go now that the building was sold.

My concern was not only personal but also logistically sound, it was my place to ask.

Please find out and give me a response.

I left the gatekeepers my contact information along with the badge of my station which was mine to wear.

I got a very nice and respectful hand written letter a few weeks later.

Polite but telling me to piss off as the building was sold and those in far away places no longer had concerns about it.

I didn’t think of it before as honestly I was still angry about all of it.

It anybody would know, they would know.

They handled all such matters in town, when it happened they handled all of it, and everybody in town used their services. If they were going to be moved, they would have moved them.

And it turned out they did know, as they were the ones who moved them when the people in the far away place walked away from any responsibility.

It took some persistence to get access to the crypt in the hill, but I saw them with my own eyes.

Names remembered by me and maybe some long off family members.

Th woman in charge of this building was curious as to what lead me to such a request as I recounted stories of the people placed here who helped me over the years, who made an impact by just being around me.

How they all kept a commitment going for as long as they could.

How I could not roll with the changes from those in far away places, no insult intended to the woman, so in my immaturity I walked away.

I should have stayed and fought even if it was unwinnable.

But here I was, and now I could resign properly as the last living senior warden.