04 Apr Weekend with the Colonel
Hedy, my Hedy
I drove to Columbia for a quick overnight visit with the Colonel. When I walked into his apartment at The Atria, his assisted living home, and after a hug, he said, “Sit down, Patti, there are four things I need to tell you!
“First of all, I’m tired. I’m just so tired. My doctor says it’s because I’m 93 … I need to get used to it.
“Second, my eyes are shot. I can’t see.
“And my hearing is gone. The VA is getting me new hearing aids.
“And what’s the last thing? Oh yes, my memory. I have no memory.
“I just want you to know …”
As long as it’s just the two of us, in a quiet room, we have great conversations.
Equipped with a paper cutter and special glue that my brother orders online, Herman spends much of his time making notepads. He has a huge assortment of different sizes. I have his notepads in my purse, in my car, at my desk, in the kitchen. We all do.
Sunday morning we drove to the cemetery. Herman sat on the granite bench that reads “Allen” and watched me put fresh spring flowers in the urn where our mother, his dear Hedy, is buried.
He looked at the headstone and asked me if I had a pen and some paper. I said, “Certainly, Daddy … let me get one of your pads out of the car.”
“Please write that on the pad.” He pointed to the headstone.
I did. July 22, 1921 – November 24, 2007.
He took the piece of paper and put it in his pocket.
Amy
Posted at 11:28h, 05 AprilThis is so sweet, Patti! Herman reminds me of both characters in Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, where the tree says, my apples are gone, my branches are gone, my trunk is gone etc. And in the end the old man (“the boy”) just needs an old tree stump to sit on and rest.
Pat
Posted at 11:42h, 05 AprilAmy, since I wasn’t familiar with that book, I googled the name and found a youtube video of the book being read aloud. I loved it. Thanks for the connection.
Rowdy
Posted at 17:23h, 12 SeptemberBrings a tear to my eye. I love these men so.