I hate goodbyes

We moved into this house almost seven years ago. It was nearly love at first sight, very similar to the chaos-filled homes we each grew up in as we both come from large families. It was and still is a great neighborhood.

We purchased the house from the original owners who built the house as they started their family. When we moved in, much of the neighborhood was still the elder residents who had built these homes. Today there has been many more turned-over to the younger generations to build or raise their own families; it is a vibrant neighborhood full of youthful life and activity.

After we moved in, we quickly got to know our neighbors. To the north, a second-owner home who had themselves raised their children in their home; a wonderful family of five, very Christian, would do anything for you, and so darn nice my brother refers to them as the Brady Bunch. To the south, a couple nearing eighty who had three sons, one of which they cared for in their home as he was born with cerebral palsy and then at some point suffered a brain injury. The other two had careers and families of their own; one was 6 hours away and the other was 6 minutes away. Their son at home was a gentle giant, about 50 years old when we moved in. The three of them would sit in lawn chairs in their driveway and strike up conversations with anyone walking by, and though his speech was difficult to understand the gentle giant would soon control the conversation. He had a firm handshake, even though it was difficult for him to walk. We often worried about Mom and Dad, for he was so much bigger than they. (They loved our kids as their own, too, so it seems natural to refer to them as Mom and Dad.)

Almost one year ago they finally decided to place him in a care facility. It was more difficult for Mom, she had cared for this man all of his life, knew all the nuances of his speech, how could a stranger care for him like she had? Over time she has accepted it as the best for him. After his first night away they went to have breakfast with him the next morning, his first words were that he did not want to return home! He was happy, had a place of his own, and I think he realized that it was the best for his parents too.

Shortly after finally emptying their nest, the other local son went through a messy divorce and he moved-in with them. Can you believe it? Now 80+ years old, and one returns to the nest. This one was no joy either. Supposedly suffered from debilitating headaches, needed to live in a darkened room kept at a very cool temperature. When he did venture outside he was skin and bones, rudely outspoken, and treated Dad like dirt. Two years later he's still living there, and still treating Dad like dirt. We worry that psychology is to blame for his problems, but Mom would never hear it.

When we returned from our summer vacation this year we noticed that Mom was sitting in a chair in the sun. She always looked tired and worn, but she looked utterly exhausted now. Since we were returning after being away for 10 days we had much to do with unpacking and cleaning and sadly didn't make the time to at least go say "Hi". The next day our neighbor to the north informed us that Mom had been diagnosed with cancer, and the initial prognosis was not optimistic. This was confirmed within the week at a follow-up appointment and there might be six months left for her. Still, they kept to their routine as much as possible, having breakfast with the Gentle one, helping change his clothes, etc. It was enough to make you think that her will alone would carry her through.


Last Friday our neighborhood had a block party. It was a great time, and with more fresh faces in the neighborhood it was good to mingle and meet so many of the new neighbors. The kids all had fun; there was a bicycle parade, goody bags, face painting, and best of all the fire truck. After the crew got a bite to eat, all the kids were given rides in the fire truck complete with lights, sirens, and even blaring horns. As the driver would round the curve to come back up the hill she would apply the engine brake to help slow the rig down, it makes an unmistakable muffled popping sound as the rig slows. It took three or four loads to get all the kids a turn at riding in the truck, so the sound was etched in my mind by the end of the night.


By now Mom has grown much weaker and they were unable to attend the party, so Wifey and another neighbor went to visit and take them some of the wonderful treats from the party. Mom could only worry about her hair, of all things! She hadn't been to the salon in so long, and wanted nothing more than to have her hair curled, so Wifey set an appointment to curl her hair the next day at 11:00 in the morning. Wifey was there promptly at 11, but was back after a few minutes to get a spray bottle. Daughter M wanted to go see "Gramma D" so together they went. She was so grateful, it took almost two hours before Wifey and Daughter made it back home. There was so much to talk about, and Mom loved to see Daughter M.

I heard it again later that day, and at first thought that maybe the firefighters had some responsibility to remove the barricades put in place by the city for the block party. After a few seconds I realized that they had stopped at Mom & Dad's next door. Wifey heard it too and rushed over to offer a hand. I checked on all the kids, who were extremely curious but I was proud of their restraint as they never wandered to the other side of the yard for a better look. Mom was confused, her legs were numb, and she couldn't get warm so they took her to the hospital to try and get her stable.

After a few days she came back home on Tuesday and is now getting daily visits by hospice workers. As I left for the office this morning Dad was returning from breakfast with the Gentle one and tooted the horn as he pulled into their driveway, so I went and said hello. His emotions are getting the better of him with each passing day, but we communicated more in silence than in the words which were spoken. He knows that we'll help in any way we can, but will not ask. Ironically, I'm the same way. I hope that as I walk this Earth I do it with the same grace that these two have.

I hate goodbyes.