Kimberly Marie & The Easter Bunny
(October of '89)
In 1976, my dad retired and my folks bought a home in Dothan Alabama. A lot of Canal Zone families(Herns, Demings, Gangles, Jansens, Hrris, Malias . . .) had retired in Dothan and the pace and the climate were sort of like the Zone - slower, hot, humid and rainy. Their place had three bedrooms, 2 and a half bathrooms, small formal living room and dining room, but fair sized family room. But it had a huge playroom - a converted three car garage - carpteted, paneled, with lots of windows and built in shelves and cabinets. They put in a bumper pool table, the old rattan chairs from their place in the Zone and the bamboo beds from my old room. There was a TV and a stereo and lots of pillows to put on the floor and sit on - why do kids like to sit on the floor? There were books and board games in addition to the bumper pool table. I later introduced the first video game during an annual visit.
Since most of their neighbors worked (both mothers and fathers), the neighborhood kids soon discovered "B's Alabama". They'd come over after school and hang out until dinner time and come back over "to do their homework". And soon there were many - like the Zone B's place. Kids wandering in and out, getting ready to go "do something" or coming over "after doing something". There were trips to the Panama City Florida beach and amusement parks, trips to the many lakes nearby and an occasional trip to Six Flags and Stone Mountain up in Atlanta.
And so it went - until '84.
My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in '84 and went through surgery and rehabilitation. But it came back. Nearly a year of chemotherapy didn't help and she died in late '85. My son and I were there for the last month. She'd play cards and read to my son and when she was too weak to read to him, he'd read to her. Sometimes he'd just crash on the couch next to her hospital bed in the living room and read to himself. He wanted to be nearby in case she needed anything. My son just turned 21 in '98 and he's still a good "kid" who looks out for others and is there to help if needed. I'm proud of him and I'm sure his grandmother is, at this moment, bragging about him to the angels.
But 1984 took a lot out of Mr. B. Though always willing to help others he was never one to ask for help. He tried to take care of my mother by himself. And since he wasn't good at brushing people off, especially nosey ones, he got tired of all the questions about how my mom was doing. How do you tell other people that she's dying when you don't want to believe it yourself?
So he withdrew. My mother's death in 1985 hit him harder than any of us knew.
By late '85 most of his "kids" had grown up and gone off to college or to work and families. But two of the remaining kids "got pregnant" in '86. They were married in dad's living room - both high school drop outs, one an orphan and the other funcitionally an orphan. Without dad's help they were in for a lot of hard times.
Six months after the baby was born, a little girl, the father split. Dad started baby sitting while the mother returned to finish high school. For a while it was for half days and then when the mother started working, for entire days. Sometimes he'd have the baby for two days at a time when the childs mother was working night shifts. Our weekly phone conversations were mainly about how amazing Kimmy was - she was at least a genius according to dad.
When the baby's mother went after the father for child support, the father turned dad in for running an illegal day care center (if there's a God the child's father has some heavy duty explaining to do). The law in Alabama stated that unless you were a blood relative, you could not have a child in your home for more than 12 hours in a 24 hour period. By now the baby was a significant part of dad's life - actually she was a reason to live - someone who needed him. And the mother couldn't make it if there weren't "pappa" to watch her daughter while she was in school or at work. Things got pretty tense for a while. Dealing with beauracracies was not Mr. Bs forte.
Dad got his property rezoned, got a day care license, and a business license and went to the loacl junior college and took the classes required to be a certified day care worker. The day care license stated that it was specifically for one child only, by name. That caused a few problems. When folks saw the signs that his property was being rezoned for a day care center they callled to get there child in it. Dad explained the reason for the day care thing and explained the "one child only" restriction. Most understood. But one couple threatened to file a law suit if dad didn't take their kid into his day care center. (I think there may be far too many lawyers in this country)
A Dothan city councilmen heard about dad's hassle and began a campaign to change the state law. It took two years to get to the state lelgislature but the law was changed. Maybe other "adopted" grandparents witll have any easier time caring for an "adopted" grandchild because of Mr. B.
The Baby, Kimberly Marie or Kimmy, was growing up. When she obviously needed to be around other kids her age, dad found a day care center near his house and got her into daycare. At first he'd hang around after dropping her off and coming early to watch before taking her home. Pretty soon he was a volunteer full time. He'd keep an eye on the more rambuncious kids when the others where down for naps and occasionally watched the infants when a regular staff member was sick or had an appointment.
And Kimmy was growing up. When she started school dad had less to do. When the child's mother remarried he "baby sat" once in a while and they'd stop by for visits often. But when they moved twenty five miles away things tapered off a lot and the time between visits grew longer. Phone calls from "pappa" became less important to an eight year old. Days can get pretty long when you don't have to be anywhere and don't have to do anything. Not doing anything is not good for you.
So life became reading the paper, watching TV, going out to eat every other night. Sleep when you're sleepy and be awake when you're not. So he'd be up 'til 2 or 3 am and sleep 'til noon or one or two. Naps and sleep happened at all hours of the day and night. You ate when you were hungry and if there was food to eat. Cooking was not dad's strong suit so most "meals" were sandwiches. Tried getting him into microwave meals but he vehemently was opposed to microwave ovens. "I wouldn't use one, even if it was a flotation device and I was drowning!"
Our now daily phone conversations gave no hint of how really lonely and isolated he was. Our annual three week visits did point up the need for some serious house cleaning and home repairs also occupied a good hunk of that time. But things seemed to be more or less OK. And dad rejected all suggestions about moving out to California to be closer to my son and I. He also opposed having someone stay with him to prepare meals, do laundry and keep the place clean. As for moving to an assisted living facility - "out of the question!"
On my '97 annual visit it became apparent that a big house was requiring more time and energy to keep up than dad was able to muster. Shopping and cooking was getting harder and harder. An 81 year old behind the wheel of a car scared the hell out of me, there'd been several accidents. So we looked into local assisted living places and found one a mile from his house. The young couple with the little girl were going to move into the house and dad and I would subsidize them. In time they'd be offered the house at a very good price. And dad could come over a Saturday or two each month and Kimmy could come over to see him at Somerset just up the road. Looked like a good deal for all concerned.
But the young couple who were going to move in changed their mind so that piece fell through.
Then we found a growth on my father's neck the last week of July of '97. Made some quick arrangements and my cousin, in the medical field, pulled some strings for dad. We saw a surgeon on Wednesday, the tumor was removed surgically on Thursday and he was back at the house by 11 am on Friday.
Now picture this. An 81 year old is leaving a hospital after surgery on his neck. He has 32 staples in his neck, 5 stitches behind the ear and four in front, with a plastic drain tube coming out of his neck and connected to a little pump thing in his pocket. He gets into the car and LIGHTS A CIGARETTE!
To his credit, he was a fairly good patient and I was an excellent nurse. But he hated going to doctor appointments.
Dad had a private room with a private bath at Somerset. Got him a recliner and a TV and portable phone. We brought out some of his furniture, an oriental screen, artwork and lamps from the house. then we did morning half days for two days and then afternoon and overnights for two days to work out the bugs. There were a few bugs to work out.
Sundays in the South are church days. Dad, being a Catholic in a Southern Baptist dominated place, found himself on a couch, wedged between an overweight lady resident in her Sunday finest wearing a bit more perfume than the EPA recomends, and the minister's wife. In front of him, just beyond arms length were three guitar strumming, hymn singing guys backing up the bible bearing orator/singer/preacher. Now if you've never heard a Southern Baptist minister "preach" you really must experience it at least once in your lifetime. But under no circumstances do so in a confined space - stay at least 25 feet away - 50 feet or more if you're able to get back that far. And bring a fan, even if the place is air conditioned - folks can work up a sweat during the services.
So there dad was, wedged in and surrounded by "musicians" and "church folks", with all their goings on - for over an hour! "Why didn't you just skip it, or get up and leave?" I asked. Dad didn't want to be rude. Hell, I'd have resorted to vomiting if that's what it took to get away - but not dad. So I had a long conversationwith the administrator and explained that dad was a Catholic and not that into demonstrative religion - he preferred a more quiet God. Problem solved.
So by the time I left Dothan the first week in July, dad was settling in, the young couple was working on fixing up the house and I came home to two weeks with my son before he left to work in Munich Germany (5,800 miles and 9 times zones away from home).
Sometime after I phoned him on August 6 th, dad took a fall lin the bathroom at Somerset. I got a call from the administrator at 1 AM Califronia time. She was at the hospital and dad was gettting X-rayed. He was not in any danger but they thought he may have broken a rib and or a broken leg. Twelve hours later I was talking to an orthopedic surgeon. Dad had fractured the neck of his left femur, between the vertical part of the thigh bone and the piece that goes to the ball that goes to the hip socket. The plan was to make a 2 inch incision and put in two screws to stabilize the fracture. Dad's sister, who lives in Dothan was giving me almost hourly reports of dad's condition. I was going to fly back there but she suggested waiting. There wasn't anything I could do that she wasn't already doing. The surgery was successful and apparently uneventful.
Three days after surgery, dad was moved to a rehabilitiation center for 4 weeks of rehab. That was the plan at least. But the fall, the surgery, the anesthetic and the pain pills were too much. He was delerious for nearly a week and the estimate of rehab time went from a month to two or three months. Ten days later things changed dramaticallly and a little over two weeks later he was up and about, though using a walker, mainly for support. Early in August he returned to Somerset assisted living and things looked like they were going to settle down.
Dad had been back at the assisted living facility about a week when I got a call from the administrator. Dad was getting bored (not a whole lot of activity at a Seniors Home) and when bored had begun doing annoying things. When you've got a lot of people with hearing aides that are particularly sensitive to high frequencies, whistling is not a good idea. For whatever reason, he was unable or unwilling to stop whistling at the dinner table. Then he began exploring - particualarly the kitchen and especially when cooking is going on. Checking out kitchen drawers and knives is not cool. Wandering off towards the road is not cool.
On a Friday afternoon in early September, I got a call from the place dad was at. "We can't keep you father here for much more than a week and the nearest place that will take him is 25 miles away. What are YOU going to do?" A week is not a long time under normal circumstances, but was extremely brief when it required finding doctors, local assisted living facilities, airline tickets, etc. Did a lot of running around and lots of phone calls before the next Thursday when I flew back to Dothan. Got in around 4:30, saw dad and began packing up the house for the next two and a half days.
On Monday flew back with dad to California. He stayed with us a few days and then moved to Cedar Creek Assisted Living just down the road. For the next several months I'd pick him up around 10 am and get him back for dinner or pick him up after lunch and take him back around 9 or 10 or 11. Things settled in and were pretty good.
I'd arranged to have dad's stuff shipped out here. One of dad's "kids" has a shipping company and that made things quite a bit easier. But when the HUGE moving truck pulled up in front of my house things got a bit complicated. The contract I'd signed had a section that said "cash or cashiers check" upon receipt. I'd missed that line. So the driver and his helper sat around while I tried to get close to five grand at 8 o'clock in the morning.
Once that was taken care of it was time to get all the stuff where it was going to go. An eight foot long dining table is not an easy thing to locate in a small house but it found a place anyway. The garage filled rapidly with stuff dad had collected - like 148 "collector" plates - 20 or Norman Rockwell, 20 of cute little girls on swings, playing with a kitten etc. It was kind of like trying to fit a gallon of water in a quart jar. But when the truck left everything was inside a structure. Much of what went into the garage is still in the garage 5 months later..