The Last Remnants of a Generation...

This morning my phone rang at the ungodly hour of 7:45 AM. Since I have caller ID, I am able to screen the calls to make up my mind whether to answer or not, but in the back of my mind know that any calls before the customary polite time to call are usually emergencies, or of the utmost importance. Seeing the Florida area code made me grab the phone before it went into voice mail, as I am waiting to hear about my Uncle who now resides in a nursing home. Luckily, it was just my cousin, who is coming to see me Thanksgiving weekend.

My Aunt and Uncle moved down to Florida many years back in order to live a fuller life in the warmth of the sunshine state. After many cold winters in the Northeast, a host of cars that were ruined by the salting of the roads there, and a nagging feeling to be rid of the many demands put upon them by my Grandparents, Florida seemed like the land of good and plenty. They purchased a house and got to work making a new start. I had gone down to see them a few times, as they are my closest relatives now.... all the rest still reside in New England.

During these visits, my Uncle seemed more calm than I had remembered him to be.... perhaps those many demands up in the cold of the hinterlands had tarnished his good humor, and the sunshine state had warmed his attitude. Whatever it was, I now had a good relationship with him.

My Aunt was always a saint, and our relationship was always on good terms. She was the person I had turned to in many of my troubled times as a teenager, as my Mom and I were forever at arms length until 11 months before my Mother passed away. My Aunt was the person that everyone called in to help, mediate, and bear strength where everyone else failed. She was also the person who was able to help me empty the closet of my Mothers belongings, as my Father was too distraught to even go in the room. Her special brand of caring was all my heart needed to see me through even the toughest of tragedies, and she came through many more times than I can count.

Several years ago, my Aunt was forced to put my Uncle in a nursing home, as his mind started to slip beyond the bounds of a little forgetfulness. He was showing serious signs of advanced alzheimers, and it racked his brain to the extent that he became violent. Since my own Father had succumbed to dementia in 98, I knew this was going to be a long road... and not very pleasant. My Father was never to live very long with the disease, as he suffered a massive heart attack, not too many months after my step-mother was forced to put him in a home as well. At least he was spared the many years it takes for the brain to shut down completely.
Not so with my Uncle. He has been in the home nearing on four years now. His body and mind are no longer his own, and each day is a struggle in survival... if that's what you'd call it.

I was able to visit him over two years ago, and the sight reduced me to tears. He could no longer hold a conversation and perhaps said one word the whole time I was there. It was a funny moment for all of us as we had a hard time remembering a town in Massachusetts that some of our Great Uncles had had a restaurant in... and he was the only one who remembered Woburn.
Thus being the only word he spoke.

I call my Aunt as frequently as possible, or she'll call me.... just to chat, solve a few garden problems and go over the past. Each call always has me asking how Uncle is, and I am sad to hear that he is reduced to being in bed all day now. Walking is no longer a sport that he can partake of; trips to the nursing home garden are only done by wheelchair.... and I doubt he is even keenly aware of it.

In these phone calls that my Aunt and I have, I always find out how everyone else is doing. Older folks of the family that she was able to stay in touch with, but I have long since lost touch with, are now starting to expire as well. She has slowly become the last of her generation that is part of my family.... and I realize that I am slowly becoming a senior member to the generation behind me. At 40+, that almost seems too cruel a concept to accept. I know I'm not that old... my heart and mind still think young, but time is telling no lies here.... besides, the body has a voice of it's own that the mind pays no attention to.

So as I rush off to answer those Florida phone calls, I want to be the calming voice on the other end for my Aunt, the one that soothes the rough spots and holds her hand through her tough hour. I know that the roles can not be reversed so easily, though, she will be comforting me as she has always done in the past... because once again, I will be reduced to tears, while she will
be stoic and steadfast. Oh, did I mention she was a saint?