Adventure 427: The Story of George, 4

January 22, 2018

In real time yesterday we arrived to find George sound asleep. He woke up easily, got dressed, and ate a pretty good breakfast of raisin bran, grapes, protein water, and a couple of pieces of bacon that Vina brought in. We stayed for a couple of hours, yet. Dad read the paper, Judy knit, and I engrossed myself in A Prayer for Owen Meany. About eleven, Dad went with Vina to knit-wits. Judy and I met Deb and Ed for a walk, a chat, and a coffee. They walked us home, and we took George to the doctor where he had blood drawn, a hip X-Ray, a urine draw, and a check over by Doctor Mueller. Dr. signed all the referrals we need for the urology office, the home health nurse, and we filled out new POLSTS, including two for Judy and me. It took nearly three hours. George held up well. We dropped him just in time for dinner.

George married Margaret the day Kennedy was assassinated. I was in seventh grade. Everyone my age remembers where they were that day. Tom and I visited the newlyweds that summer for a few days. It may have been a week, but whatever it was, it was hard.  Margaret was a complicated woman, but most of all she was hard. She drove hard; worked hard; lived hard; dealt with others in brute, hard ways. George loved her; the rest of us, not so much. She was a striking beauty, though, and at the time she had waist long thick, luxurious red hair that she religiously stroked 100 times a night. I have a clear memory of watching her brush her hair, but I digress. In the summer of my eighth grade year, there must have been something happening in George's lizard brain because he had broken things off with Margaret, and here he had shown up in Spokane to restart things with Chris, my mom. I don't know if he was driven by the guilt of leaving his four kids fatherless, or if he couldn't evaluate his feelings for these women, or what. I don't know what he was thinking. I know the whole romance was intense. The breaking news was that we were getting back together as a family. The whole thing lasted a week before George puttered off in his little Karmann Gia. I remember sitting on the roof of our house later that day writing George a hate letter in red ink. I never did deliver it, but he gave me a harsh blow that day, and he didn't even touch me.

 Vina is a vital part of the care giving team.

 George, much to the joy of his mother, makes his bed every day.

George, waiting patiently for his appointment.

 He's still ambulating.