Day 31 Senescence

“These fragments I have shored against my ruins” 

― T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land and Other Poems

These flags fly proudly in front of a home for elderly veterans. There was a brisk breeze when I took this picture. The flags made sharp snapping sounds as the breeze buffets them. They reminded me of military men in formation as they snap to a salute. 

I once walked into the room of an old veteran who was so infirm that he relied upon the nursing home staff to take care of his most basic bodily functions. Covering his walls were pictures of his family and many of him in his Marine uniform in various stages of action. There was a picture of his wedding day, both bride and groom with glowing smiles. Once he was young and vital. Age has claimed his body and, in his physical state, I was glad that his mind went along with his health and he wasn't aware of his weakened, incapable body.

My mother told me once when she worked in ICU that, in her elderly patients' rooms, she purposefully displayed pictures of their families and of the young, vital men and women they once were. She told me that it was to remind the nursing staff and herself to see beyond the sick patient and think of them when they were once us - strong,  productive, full of dreams.

I have cared for many old veterans in my career. I have cared for many an elderly. A 93-year old retired Army man was brought in by his great-granddaughter into the ER. When the doctor asked what was wrong with him, he said, "Where do you want me to start, young man? What's wrong with me is that I'm old."

No wonder billions of dollars are spent in an attempt to postpone aging and hold on to our younger selves for just a little bit longer.

Age claims us all eventually but I do believe in aging well. I think I'll live my days as if I'm never getting old, until my body and mind tell me that it is time . . . I will live as Gandhi said, "Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you will live forever."

Day 30 A Million Dollar Question

I remember a game my father used to play with my sister and I when we were kids. We called it The Million Bucks game. The rules were very simple. My dad would ask, "If you had a million bucks, what would you do with it?" There were no wrong or better answers. We would let our imaginations run and could talk about it for hours. The point of the exercise was to encourage dreaming. My dad used to say that there was no harm in dreaming. Let your mind go wild and think of all possibilities. My sister and I would sometimes change things up and say, 'hey, what if you can't get that, what would you get instead?' Ah, good times. . .

I don't know why I was reminded of this game when I saw this boat on my way home from work. I laughed out loud. A brand new boat parked in front of, well, at least on the exterior, a dilapidated house.

It's a "Caption this Photo" moment. My first thought was "Everyone has priorities." And laughed again.  A shiny new boat or fix a house on the brink of collapse. I was amused and laughed again.

If you had a million bucks, what would you do with it?

Day 29 The Chair Man

A wheelchair sat alone in the hallway. The unit, now empty. Moments before, a patient sat in that wheelchair. I think of him now and I am overwhelmed with emotion. The memory of our interaction rose in my memory . . .

*****************************************

He smiled at me. Told me 'Thank You.' His hand trembled as he laid it on my arm.

His voice was raspy. A smoker who quit out of necessity. He coughed. The damage to his lungs apparent. His clothes sagged on his bony frame. His chest caved in underneath.

He looked at me and smiled again. His eyes were yellow. His lips were dry and cracked.

I was gentle with the wheelchair as I headed to the car ramp where we would meet his wife. He was going home that day.

His wife showed me a picture of him in his Navy uniform taken years ago. He looked so youthful, strong, confident. Eyes undulled and bright with promise.  His medical problems plagued him now. His mind invaded by Post-Traumatic Stress. 

While waiting for his wife to come around the ramp with their car, we had several minutes to talk. He saw a picture of Tom in his Special Reaction Team uniform on my phone as I checked for messages. He told me that he was once a special forces operator. His eyes brightened as he told me of places he's been to and the people he met. After a few minutes, his eyes dulled again. He looked at the Veteran's office across the street, and to no one in particular said, "Yeah. Good times." I heard the ghosts in his voice, of a past filled with bad memories, and a present full of nightmares. 

I helped him stand and, unsteadily, he reached for something to hold on to inside the car. He winced, grimaced. Pain caught him off guard and he was unable to mask it. A little short of breath, he settled onto the car seat. I barely heard him whisper, "I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity."

I snapped his seatbelt on. He looked up at me once more. Held my hand and with a smile, he said, "Thank your husband for me . . . for his service . . . " Then he closed the car door. A few minutes later, I watched their car as it made a left towards the main road.

*********************************************************

Out of curiosity, I typed in the phrase I heard him say. It is from the Navy SEAL ethos. I think of him now and thank God for men like him and hope that somewhere in the world, he is well.

To our Navy SEALs. Thank you for your service.