* * *
May
21, 1944
My Dearest
Wife,
Sweetheart,
I absolutely love you with all of my heart. Honey, do you remember the
four-leaf clover? I still have it in my shirt pocket.
I’m glad you’re practicing the
typewriter. You will make good, my dear.
I
don’t mind saying I’m lonesome. I’m looking for an apartment for us. Even if I
thought we could be together for just a little while, I would be all for it.
I
made $138.43 this month. We could have one room, a little room in the back for
cooking and a bath to share with another couple. It’s a heck of a way to live,
but we’d be happy. I’ve thought of what you said after our wedding, “Life’s too
short.” I guess it’s true, why worry about future, security, position; we want
to be happy together. You’re changing me, my darling. Write honey, and tell me
what you think.
Love,
XOXOXO
Your
loving husband, forever and ever,
Ed
* * *
After being at
Mom’s grave, I decided it was just too hard to leave my phone on during school
hours. It wouldn’t matter when I arrived after any injury. In case of an
emergency, The Lodge could leave a message for me at school. So, for about a
month, Dad’s Hospice nurse and I had been leaving voicemails for one another.
When I visited Dad on the weekends she was off, so we didn’t cross paths. She’d
left routine updates when I was at work, and by the time my students were gone
for the day and I called her, her shift was over. Finally we were able to
connect by phone on the Friday before my spring break. She concurred with my
perception of Dad’s vast mental decline, and his shift from happiness and
contentment to sadness and discomfort. I spoke with her about the faith of our
family, and said we were at peace with his inevitable passing whenever it
should occur. In fact, I told her we were actively praying for his release. The
Hospice nurse told me Dad could live yet a couple of months.
I stopped to see
Dad on my way home from work that evening. Nurses suspected Dad might have a
urinary tract infection, which could be contributing to his overall anxiety.
Aides described him as having periods of being ‘wired’ and ‘crashed.’ Hearing
these words made me think he must have periods of increased activity and then
sleep, but that was not what was meant by these terms at all.
As he saw me, he
sputtered, “Hey, hey let’s go.” So, I proceeded to take him out of the locked
doors to gain some privacy, hoping to sit quietly by the fireplace––however he
became very agitated as we passed through the doors. He was trying to power the
wheelchair with his feet in the wrong direction. I began to think I wasn’t
going to be able to control him, and I almost had to ask for help to return him
to the locked unit.
Observing him when
we returned, I witnessed his wired state, meaning he started wheeling his wheel
chair back and forth across the common room, moving it by pulling with his feet
(almost like he was pacing). He could not be still. He rolled from one end of
the room to the other, repeatedly.
Aides told me he
could not even be still enough even to eat during meals. He would chase every
person who passed by rolling his wheelchair, saying with great confusion, “Hey,
hey, let’s go!” He wheeled himself back and forth to the security doors pushing
on them, setting off alarms, trying to get out. There was no stopping,
soothing, or pacifying him.
I heard him say he
had to go to the bathroom. An aide wheeled him to the bathroom, but by the time
he had gotten there, he’d forgotten he needed to relieve himself. As aides
tried to assist him, he moaned and cried in pain, then became combative.
It was so hard to
see him that way––he’d never been belligerent before. Aides told me this was a
typical reaction from him now. It was devastating to see Dad’s happy
personality be replaced by desperate confusion. I felt helpless, but knew there
was nothing I could do––nothing anyone could do.
Aides told me they
understood this was hard for me to see. Choking back tears, I responded that I
believed Mom must be calling him to heaven very loudly now. Trying to lighten
the mood, one of the aides said, “Well, he's not listening. Isn’t that
just like a man?” She coaxed a smile out from behind my welling tears as I
shook my head, bewildered...
