Tuesday, September 06, 2005
September 6, 1988
The dog days were hanging around. Pompano was hot and muggy. Bamps decided to move into the living room where he could be under the stronger air conditioner. Plus I think he felt a bit confined in his bedroom. It was always so quiet in there. It was great when Nany was alive and we'd stay up late to watch some movies or play rummy or scrabble, but now he wanted some noise. One of the reasons he liked being in the living room was that he could hear the children next door play.
He still kept ice cream in the freezer for them, and every afternoon JD and Heidi would come over and we would all have an ice cream cone. JD had started first grade and loved to tell my grandfather about his day and show his homework off. Heidi was only three, so she had stories to tell of all the adventures her stuffed animals had when us humans went to sleep at night. Her animals lived magical lives!
The days had settled into a routine. Breakfast at 7:30 (usually Raisin Bran and Sanka), a mid-morning snack of chocolate ice cream or a brownie. Then about 11:30 Juanita or Helena would come by and check Bamps' vital, make sure his meds were fine, and would sit and visit. Helena was woman in her late 60s who went back to private duty nursing after her husband had died from brain cancer a couple years earlier. She was originally from Poland and still had a bit of an accent. She would regularly bring stuffed cabbage and cookies.
I don't know where Juanita and Helena found time to do all the baking they did! I know that other patients got goodies too. One time Juanita even got us to try goat pies. Yup, goat pies. They were like empanadas, and the meat was seasoned a bit too much for Bamps, but I loved it.
The day after Labor Day Bamps had an appointment with Dr. S. It was like all his other appointments with Dr. S. Lungs are looking better, bloodwork was worse, no HIV positive test.
After we left Dr. S., we decided to take a drive to see the beach. It had been years since my grandfather and I had gone to the beach. He got out and sat on the bench in the sand, and we talked about how much Pompano had changed since we moved there in 1960. He liked it better then.
After awhile, he decided he wanted to go to IHOP. I thought it was great that he actually felt like eating. He had his favorite, silver dollar pancakes, but he only ordered a child's portion. He did eat them all. That was the last time we went out to a restaurant; somehow I knew that it would be even before we even went in.
He slept well that night, blissed out on carbs.
For the first time since we'd moved in, I sat in my bedroom and cried while Hank held me. I didn't want to see him go through this. He didn't deserve it. No body does. I knew everybody dies; it's natural. It's a part of the circle of life. But what I didn't want was for him to suffer. He was a good man, full of love, kind, funny, generous. He had always hoped he would be killed at age 90 by a jealous husband of a 25 year old blond.
Well, you never know, there may still be time!
He still kept ice cream in the freezer for them, and every afternoon JD and Heidi would come over and we would all have an ice cream cone. JD had started first grade and loved to tell my grandfather about his day and show his homework off. Heidi was only three, so she had stories to tell of all the adventures her stuffed animals had when us humans went to sleep at night. Her animals lived magical lives!
The days had settled into a routine. Breakfast at 7:30 (usually Raisin Bran and Sanka), a mid-morning snack of chocolate ice cream or a brownie. Then about 11:30 Juanita or Helena would come by and check Bamps' vital, make sure his meds were fine, and would sit and visit. Helena was woman in her late 60s who went back to private duty nursing after her husband had died from brain cancer a couple years earlier. She was originally from Poland and still had a bit of an accent. She would regularly bring stuffed cabbage and cookies.
I don't know where Juanita and Helena found time to do all the baking they did! I know that other patients got goodies too. One time Juanita even got us to try goat pies. Yup, goat pies. They were like empanadas, and the meat was seasoned a bit too much for Bamps, but I loved it.
The day after Labor Day Bamps had an appointment with Dr. S. It was like all his other appointments with Dr. S. Lungs are looking better, bloodwork was worse, no HIV positive test.
After we left Dr. S., we decided to take a drive to see the beach. It had been years since my grandfather and I had gone to the beach. He got out and sat on the bench in the sand, and we talked about how much Pompano had changed since we moved there in 1960. He liked it better then.
After awhile, he decided he wanted to go to IHOP. I thought it was great that he actually felt like eating. He had his favorite, silver dollar pancakes, but he only ordered a child's portion. He did eat them all. That was the last time we went out to a restaurant; somehow I knew that it would be even before we even went in.
He slept well that night, blissed out on carbs.
For the first time since we'd moved in, I sat in my bedroom and cried while Hank held me. I didn't want to see him go through this. He didn't deserve it. No body does. I knew everybody dies; it's natural. It's a part of the circle of life. But what I didn't want was for him to suffer. He was a good man, full of love, kind, funny, generous. He had always hoped he would be killed at age 90 by a jealous husband of a 25 year old blond.
Well, you never know, there may still be time!
