Friday, November 29, 2013
Although last Thanksgiving at the Soldiers Home was kind of magical, I didn’t make it out there this year because my son and I were having some “second-family” magic of our own, and time got away from us. I did, though, have a lovely holiday email exchange with Ray McDade on Thursday—and, on Friday, I made sure to see him—and as many other Soldiers Home friends as I could.
I got there just as an outside group’s Bingo ended, so I ran into quite a few people right on the sidewalk. I said a passing hi to Greg, and Faith stopped briefly to tell me about her Thanksgiving—she had spent it with family, and had had four pies.
Dorothy stopped for longer, and we covered a lot of ground. She told me all about Bingo, clued me in to AMC’s ongoing movie marathons (she had watched Gone with the Wind) and reminded me about the Soldiers Home Christmas Bazaar on Dec. 13-14 (it’ll be her 16th year manning a table of goodies).
Inside I passed a man I’d never met. “You’re dressed like it’s cold outside,” he said. “Oh, it is,” I said. “Freezing.” He smiled and shivered. “I can’t imagine,” he said.
I knocked on Ray’s door and peeked in when no one answered. Ray was not there, but his roommate was. “Is Ray around?” I asked Jim. “Do you see him?” Jim answered. Well. No. I guess I didn’t. But I had a pretty good guess where I might find him.
I walked to the Activity Center, where I figured folks would be watching the Apple Cup. I was mostly right: Seven or eight men were gathered there, but only Ray was really watching the big-screen game.
We hugged, and he held my hand for a minute, and we talked for longer than we’ve talked in a long time. Ray looked wonderful, and he is always—always—sharp and engaging and just A Lovely Man. I settled in and really relaxed—for once, I had nowhere I had to rush off to—and we watched football and talked about college, Thanksgiving (his family had taken him out to the Ram for dinner), divorce, kids, shopping and, finally, Bill Crowell.
Ray said Bill was doing even worse. Ray advised me to accept another invitation to the Valentine’s Dinner, should I get one, in case Bill’s not up for it. And Ray encouraged me to stop in to see Bill.
I said I would. By now it was time for Ray’s dinner, anyway, so I gave him a huge hug goodbye.
Bill was asleep and slouched in his wheelchair when I walked into his room. He opened his eyes—but I’m not sure he ever really awoke. He talked, but we did not have a conversation, and I had a hard time picking out words.
The contrast between my experience with Ray and my experience with Bill could not have been clearer. When I left Ray, I was smiling and relaxed and grateful and a little in awe at his 90-year-old mind and heart. When I left Bill, I was wondering whether either of us got even one positive element out of the visit.
I wish he could tell me.
Although last Thanksgiving at the Soldiers Home was kind of magical, I didn’t make it out there this year because my son and I were having some “second-family” magic of our own, and time got away from us. I did, though, have a lovely holiday email exchange with Ray McDade on Thursday—and, on Friday, I made sure to see him—and as many other Soldiers Home friends as I could.
I got there just as an outside group’s Bingo ended, so I ran into quite a few people right on the sidewalk. I said a passing hi to Greg, and Faith stopped briefly to tell me about her Thanksgiving—she had spent it with family, and had had four pies.
Dorothy stopped for longer, and we covered a lot of ground. She told me all about Bingo, clued me in to AMC’s ongoing movie marathons (she had watched Gone with the Wind) and reminded me about the Soldiers Home Christmas Bazaar on Dec. 13-14 (it’ll be her 16th year manning a table of goodies).
Inside I passed a man I’d never met. “You’re dressed like it’s cold outside,” he said. “Oh, it is,” I said. “Freezing.” He smiled and shivered. “I can’t imagine,” he said.
I knocked on Ray’s door and peeked in when no one answered. Ray was not there, but his roommate was. “Is Ray around?” I asked Jim. “Do you see him?” Jim answered. Well. No. I guess I didn’t. But I had a pretty good guess where I might find him.
I walked to the Activity Center, where I figured folks would be watching the Apple Cup. I was mostly right: Seven or eight men were gathered there, but only Ray was really watching the big-screen game.
We hugged, and he held my hand for a minute, and we talked for longer than we’ve talked in a long time. Ray looked wonderful, and he is always—always—sharp and engaging and just A Lovely Man. I settled in and really relaxed—for once, I had nowhere I had to rush off to—and we watched football and talked about college, Thanksgiving (his family had taken him out to the Ram for dinner), divorce, kids, shopping and, finally, Bill Crowell.
Ray said Bill was doing even worse. Ray advised me to accept another invitation to the Valentine’s Dinner, should I get one, in case Bill’s not up for it. And Ray encouraged me to stop in to see Bill.
I said I would. By now it was time for Ray’s dinner, anyway, so I gave him a huge hug goodbye.
Bill was asleep and slouched in his wheelchair when I walked into his room. He opened his eyes—but I’m not sure he ever really awoke. He talked, but we did not have a conversation, and I had a hard time picking out words.
The contrast between my experience with Ray and my experience with Bill could not have been clearer. When I left Ray, I was smiling and relaxed and grateful and a little in awe at his 90-year-old mind and heart. When I left Bill, I was wondering whether either of us got even one positive element out of the visit.
I wish he could tell me.
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