This is the day, November 22nd, 2013, fifty years ago on a Friday that the world changed for the United States. THE anniversary where everyone of the post-WWII generation remembers where they were if they are, let's say, reasonably, 55 years of age. I was in 2nd grade and mom says I came home, declared to her that the president had been shot and then we told dad. She says we went upstairs to watch Walter Cronkite take off his glasses and wipe his eyes after announcing the death of the President John F. Kennedy, killed by an assassin's bullet fired by Lee Harvey Oswald in Daley Plaza, Dallas, Texas, about 1 p.m. or 2 p.m. our time, which would correlate to my being released from school about that time.
Well, it's been an equally momentous day in the "ending" portion of my father's life as I awoke early morning of this 22nd day of November, 2013, to start him on the oxygenator that was brought in two days ago by Delaware Hospice or more specifically, a sub-contractor with DH, GlobalMedical. It happened without incident to a puzzled dad who wondered why we didn't use the tanks -- he'd been trying to figure out how to get the air started on one tank when I got up to his room. I told him that we needed the oxygen to flow continuously and not have to change tanks out every 4 or so hours. He seemed to comprehend, so I plugged it into the socket behind the TV, which I was to find out was a mistake. A few hours later, the machine was off and the plug pulled, so, he had to get out of the bed and I threaded the wire under the bed and plugged the oxygenator into the wall behind the bed. The wire is now covered by the bed and protected from being tripped or pulled out. At this writing, 6:50 a.m., he is resting. I'm going to let him rest till he calls me or by 7:30, I will check on him. Today, Doug leaves for Delaware on a one-stop trip (he'll stay over in Reidsville, NC, and head to Limestone Gardens early Saturday morning and arrive in all likelihood in the early afternoon of 11/23). Coincidentally, Marissa and the Finn family, on a visit to Philly for a bridal (?) shower, plans to stop by for a bit tomorrow morning, too. Missy will text me when they are in the area.
On a problematic note, the closet where I stored mom's pills in the 7-day container, was upset and items had fallen down. Mom says it fell on its own accord. I tend to doubt it, but the pills, once found, had not been disturbed. Nothing was removed, so she may be telling the truth. I think she is, possibly, but there is still some doubt in my mind. I have decided not to bring it up. I think dad is stirring so I go to check on him.
He was and he was seated and the oxygenator was turned off. He is weak and later I find him back in the bed after getting his medications -- omeprazole, metoprolol, vicodin, tamazepam, and alprazelam (xanax); each one pill except for the vicodin or hydrocodone (2 pills) -- and I get him more water in his teacup. Later, I get him a glass of milk and his Cream of Wheat, which he looks to weak to eat (I try to feed him and he draws back complaining of its hotness and I decide to let him feed himself, I need to check on him as I type this at 8:35 a.m.).
I just feel so damn guilty about not writing ... granted, there are distractions, the most pressing being my parents' needs ... but, it escapes so quickly, those memories, and they are important, even though I may never return to them to reread what I have written. Today was a memorable day, an historic day and I spent it rather leisurely in the morning listening to the NPR programs, in particular WBUR's OnPoint with Tom Ashbrook, which was particularly outstanding with Robert McNeil of the McNeil-Lehrer NewsHour fame, who was an NBC reporter in the presidential news coverage in Dallas that day. He had an incredible story. He is such a gifted and well spoken and such a fine intellect, but his recollections were gripping about how he heard the shots, got out of the press bus and ran to Dealey Plaza and the grass hill (knoll), hopped a fence and looked out at railroad lines that were peopleless, so he went for a phone and ran to the Texas School Book Depository and asked a young man, running from the building, if there was a phone inside. He said to check (could that have been Oswald ... probably not, it was too long after the shooting, but ...). His reports were some of the first on TV from the scene of the assassination. A few days later, on that grassy knoll, doing a story on the memorials set up for the president, he heard the sound of a bag pipe band and he broke down in tears. Like JFK, McNeil had two young children and had recently moved from England where he'd worked as a journalist. He is a native Canadian.
Later in the day, I made a trip to the Christiana Mall, which is always an adventure as the driving and roads around the mall are just a maelstrom, total disarray. Inside, Barnes & Noble is a huge and wonderful store. Found presents for Sean (a sports 2014 calendar) and Mia (The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein, an old but wonderful literary gift) and a 6-sided cube art puzzle for mom. After the bookstore, I traveled through this orgy of capitalism, so many stores, so much glitz in this mall, to Macy's (mostly fashion and jewelry and personal care products, not electric razors) and then Target, where I hit a bonanza. Found a Norelco that said it was on sale, went to the checkout lane, where the employee said she worked 8 hours but spent time out on the store aisles, which she enjoyed, her name, I think was Taylor, but she rang up a total of over $94. I balked. The price was checked and the young black manager came back to say the price was misplaced but to give me the sale price of $56 and I got a better razor for less. Does not hurt to complain about a price.
At home, where I'd left my phone, mom and dad were lying in her bed and she'd called me as well as Marli. Dad mentioned that he'd received a few phone calls from a clothing store, but I called our Dutch angel back and she said she was coming over with Gerrit with a noodle dish.
