Spillin' the Tea at 503

Sounds boring, huh? Well, I gotta say, the year 2025 was anything but boring.

December 2204 – January 2025
January saw a major shift for all of us. We packed up Mom and Dad in late December 2024 with enough clothes and personal belongings & mementos to last them a few weeks, jumped into the RV and headed south to Beaufort, SC to live with Anne and Dave. It was a good move – years in the making and not rushed, not reactive, but clearly the right one. Up to this point, John was a one-man hospice team: providing for the folks’ medical needs and medications, maintaining acute awareness of their daily health, chauffeuring them about town for this or that, taking them out to family functions at his house or local restaurants, coming down to Scranton to get them to church and maintaining the house on Providence Rd. You name it – John did it! God Bless John – there’s a place in Heaven for him.

Visiting Mom after her heart attack – 11/18/23

Mom’s Birthday – 05/24/2024

Packing Up the Scranton House – 12/17/24

Stopping in Maryland – Visit with Stephanie – 12/27/24

Dad – Head Navigator Driving Down to Beaufort – 12/28/24

Change of Command – Handing Off the Canes – 12/29/24

Furniture Arrives – 01/13/25 – Johnny Supervising

Unloading the Furniture – Bill Making Sure the Chair Works – 01/13/25

All Settled In at Anne’s House According to Trish’s Furniture Plan – 01/14/25

Back to Beaufort — The climate was more temperate, which immediately helped and being close to a loving daughter brought a level of daily care, support and attention that wasn’t possible before. Just as important, it added real help for Mom, easing some of the constant pressure she had been carrying with caring for Dad and taking care of herself. Anne did it all – assuming all of the tasks John had been responsible for – and more! She was now cooking, cleaning, helping with laundry, chauffeuring – she was John on steroids!

February – June 2025
February was about establishing routines. Doctors were identified, appointments scheduled, and medical histories transferred. As is the norm, there was a bit of administrative friction at first – getting records transferred, finding the right docs. But gradually the battle rhythms began to gel. There was a better understanding of who to call, where to go and how long things actually take (especially when moving the folks to and from the car!). Nothing was easy yet, but it was starting to feel manageable – the early signs of structure replacing uncertainty

Anne made it a point to make Mom and Dad feel comfortable in the house and made sure they got out to take in some of the local eateries and sights. Along with that, Mom and Dad were blessed by many visitors who stopped by to say “hello”.

Lunch at the 508 (With a view of the 503 out the window!)

A Visit to Crystal Lake

A Brisk Day at the Beach – Temps in the 80’s, Slight Breeze

A Walk on a Pier – Stephanie & Ariel’s Visit

Mom’s Birthday – 05/24/25

Dinner Out at a Korean BBQ Restaurant

Bill & Deb’s Visit

Sandwiched in between Mom’s birthday in May and Dad’s birthday in September, we moved them into Anne & Dave’s rental house across the street – known as “the 503” – to give the folks a greater sense of independence, privacy and space. Anne and Dave bought the house about 18 months earlier and worked hard to turn it into a real showpiece! They had been using it as a rental unit since completing the rehab, but

Dad checking out the comfort of the rental at the 503

Initial Days at the 503

John & Peg’s Visit

Visited by Cousins Jenny & Mike Younica

Enjoying a Day at the Beach

Enjoying a Day at Costco

A Wound Specialist Tending to Dad’s Arm – He Fell in the Driveway The Day We Went to Costco!!

Pleased With Himself!!

August saw Trish and I making the move into the 503 rental to live with Mom and Dad.

In September, we started talking about palliative care with Amedisys here in Beaufort and after a few weeks, enrolled Dad into their hospice program for his dementia. Since then, after navigating through a few bumps and learning the processes, we’ve had a Certified Nursing Assistant stopping by three times a week to help Dad with showers, nails, getting dressed and taking vitals; along with a Registered Nurse once a week, also to check vitals and regularly get eyes on him. All of the nurses have been fantastic – patient, caring and engaged.

Getting Spoiled by the Nurses

With Dad’s dementia, he doesn’t recall the dozens of conversations had with Bill, Anne, John, Mike and me about moving from Beaufort to Scranton and the ultimate decision made in 2024 to actually make the move. Since making the move, he’s accused Mom of “lying” to him, announcing “You promised we’d always live in Scranton and we’d die in Scranton. You lied to me. I want to die in Scranton”. As his mind continues to succumb to this horrible disease, those comments are becoming less frequent; however, not less painful to hear.

At this point, I feel it important to pause and acknowledge the people who made it possible for us to get this far.

Mom – I can’t believe she’s 95 and I don’t understand where she gets the energy to do the things she does everyday. Yes, she can be set in her ways (we’re all like that), she’s rigid in her routines and her requests are sometimes shrouded and embedded in everyday statements. But, her care for Dad is unmatched – whether it’s making his meals, tending to his needs or cleaning up after a bathroom accident – she is committed to Dad with her whole being.

Anne and Dave stepped up first, absorbing the disruption, responsibility and initial financial burden of the move without hesitation. Their willingness to open their home and their lives set everything else in motion. Working with Mom and John, the financial aspects were addressed and smoothed out. Afterwards, sacrificing their additional income stream – The 503 – to allow Mom and Dad a greater sense of independence, was a continuation of an open-ended and unconditional love.

Many people pitched in to assist us when Trish and I needed to travel: Bill and Deb, Mike, John & Peg, Stephanie, Ariel and Anne all helped in ways that made those trips possible and far less stressful. Knowing Mom and Dad were cared for allowed us to focus on what needed to be done, wherever we happened to be at the time. Establishing a simple calendar, communicating travel needs and leveraging our family and friends has allowed Anne, Dave, Trish and I to travel when we need to – whether it be for doctor appointments or much needed respite.

This year also carried real suffering. We lost friends. We endured the tragic loss of family. Those moments changed the texture of the year in ways that don’t fade quickly. Grief ran alongside responsibility and sometimes underneath it, shaping how we moved, how we spoke and how we held one another up.

There were also doctors, nurses and staff who helped us establish care and find our footing in a new place, often with patience we didn’t fully appreciate until later. Some family members and friends checked in periodically, offered meals and filled in when needed; sometimes quietly, sometimes at exactly the right moment.

This year didn’t begin with clarity and it didn’t pass without loss. But it was carried by help, steadiness and compassion. Because of that, we were able to keep moving forward, not perfectly, not effortlessly, but together.

I’m encouraged by what we’ve all been able to achieve in 2025 and I feel appropriately braced to face the new challenges caring for Mom and Dad will present in 2026.

Wow! It’s been quite some time since we posted to the BLOG – November 1st was our last post! Quite a bit has happened over that time frame, but I think we’ll stick to the more immediate happenings for the time being …

Trish and I finally made our way back to 503 after what felt like a long stretch of motion and obligation. A few doctor appointments filled the days – necessary, unglamorous pauses that remind you how much life eventually revolves around maintenance rather than momentum. It was also a reminder of how much we might take simple bodily functions for granted – never again! In any event, somewhere in between doctor appts and making an appearance at my office in Baltimore, we carved out something lighter: a trip to Pittsburgh for the Steelers-Dolphins game with Trish’s brother Pete and his daughter, Sarah.

There’s something grounding about stepping into a stadium packed with people who all believe in the same, sometimes “improbable” outcome. The noise, the ritual, the shared history – it pulled us out of our heads for a while. Like us, Pete was caught up in the moment; but, it was Sarah’s energy and excitement that made everything brighter for us – it felt sharper and more present. For a few hours, the world narrowed to first downs, bad calls and the familiar rhythm of black and gold. It was good. Necessary, even. But, boy was it cold! We managed to join up with a dear friend (john Simpson) at a tailgate event where Sarah and Pete tried on two (2) – yes, TWO – authentic, real Super Bowl rings! From there, we met up with the rest of the group that was selected to unfurl the Terrible Towel on the field before the game. As we waited in the tunnel, donning our new all-yellow shirts (“We look like Minions”, Sarah said), we fist-bumped with Jason Kelce and Ryan Clark as they finished up their ESPN pre-game broadcast, garnering more giddy squeaks and smiles! After the unfurl, we made our way to our seats and enjoyed the Steelers win!

Getting Home

Moments before we returned to 503, Dad fell. It happened in a moment. Luckily, Dave was around and able to lift him back to a sitting position in a chair. He scraped his left leg, nothing dramatic at first glance, yet enough to put us on “wound watch” for the last several days. I can’t help but wonder if it was a sign, one of those quiet warnings that doesn’t announce itself loudly but asks to be noticed all the same.

Dad has been down with a cold for the last few days, the kind that digs in deep and brings on hard, rattling coughs. Combined with the fall, it seems to have taken a toll. You can see it in how he moves even more slowly now, how the usual rhythm of his days has turned to slow to rise, more sleep during the day and loss of appetite. For several days, he didn’t take any of his AM or PM meds and didn’t eat. He complained of being nauseous and we knew he was dyhydrated. His sinus drainage was severe and his coughing was bone-rattling. In fact, each cough sounded like it cost him something.

Christmas Day

Christmas Day rolled around – It didn’t really feel like Christmas. The temperature was 74 degrees, sun was out and there was very little around the house to indicate this was Christmastime or even December, for that matter. We’re used to the cold, wet, possibly snowy Christmases, not this beautiful weather Christmas! Nonetheless, the day started differently – just like every day around here! Dad was still feeling sick, Trish was still feeling sick and Mom woke up with a sore throat – looks like she was starting to get what Dad and Trish (and Anne) had. Christmas breakfast included waffles, eggs and bacon and Mom did great. Dad had about three bites of eggs – which Trish fed to him – drank some orange juice and water and rested in his chair. He finally took his daily meds and we gave him some Tamiflu and Mucinex. By the end of the day, his coughing had decreased significantly and by dinner time, you could tell he was starting to perk up a bit. We opened Christmas presents after dinner and watched some football. It’s looking like he’s on the road to recovery; although, a bit weaker and detached than earlier.

Coming back to 503 this time feels different, quieter. Not just a return to a place, but a return to vigilance. Life keeps moving in contrasts – stadium cheers one weekend, careful steps and gauze the next. We’re here now, paying closer attention than before, measuring days not by miles traveled but by healing, rest and whether everyone is holding steady. Sometimes that’s what home really is: noticing the small things before they become big ones.

Some moments stay with you – not because they’re loud or dramatic, but because they’re quiet and they break your heart in the gentlest way.

A few days ago, the morning started like many others – with coffee, breakfast, conversation and a specific, persistent battle that comes with Dad’s dementia – nose picking. Dad was quick to anger over something simple, the type of anger we all witnessed growing up and has been greatly magnified these last few years. It started with Mom noting (sarcastically) his excessive use of tissues on his nose and said “Bill, you’re using a lot of tissues; are you eating them?” After a few moments of silence, he started to take off his shirt. Once the shirt was off, he began using it to wipe his nose, angrily shouting, “Here! How’s this? I’ll just use my shirt to wipe my nose!” What should’ve been nothing, turned into his frustration, anger and his raised voice, peppered with some swearing. Mom and I watched quietly – not engaging with his anger – as he pushed away from the table and angrily shuffled off to the bathroom. A heavy silence followed.

After things calmed down, I reminded Mom that this isn’t him, this is the disease. Mom looked at me and said quietly, “I haven’t seen my husband in a long time.”

I don’t think I’ll ever forget those words.

She wasn’t being dramatic. She was just telling the truth – a truth that sits heavy in the air around here sometimes. She’s not talking about the man sitting in the chair next to her now – she’s talking about the man who once painted his car with a paintbrush to impress her, the man she fell in love with, the one who used to hold her hand or tell corny Dad jokes.

Now she sees a man who gets angry at gentle corrections, who gets frustrated with his own reality, forgets why he’s frustrated, swears at her and who more and more often, demands he be returned to Scranton to live out the rest of his life. And, someone who looks at her like she’s someone else. It’s hard – harder than I can explain.

But she still loves him. She still makes his coffee, lays out his clothes for him, cleans up after him, prepares meals for him and and says goodnight every evening with a kiss. Her love has simply changed uniforms — from the easy laughter of their younger days to the quiet endurance of now.

I didn’t have the right words that morning. I just sat with her and said softly, “He’s still here, Mom. Just a little harder to find sometimes.”

Good days & bad days – that’s what we’ve had lately. Good days have included about five consecutive days where Dad woke up in a good mood, enjoyed his coffee and breakfast, enjoyed the visiting nurses who showered him and fawned over him, napped well and ate well. Those days included a trip to Harris Teeters for groceries, Anne’s “Famous Chicken Pot Pie, a trip to Ryan’s for lunch and relaxing evenings. Check out Dad’s innovative way to eat his soup at Ryan’s when the goofy spoon they give you won’t suffice …

Bad Days consisted of extreme anger, swearing and stomping out of the room. And that was us!!! Seriously, Dad had some bad days, too. About three consecutive bad days, as a matter of fact. He got so angry with nose-picking corrections he left the kitchen table and went to sit in a living room chair. We figured he’d fall asleep and give his brain a chance to “reset”; however, that didn’t work this time. He reemerged angry and skipped dinner, going to bed without eating. He skipped lunch the next day when anger got the best of him once again. But, we’re seeing signs that he’s starting to come out of it …

Last week, on yet another beautiful day at the “Beaufort Bayou Bungalow”, we had an opportunity to go through some boxes in the garage that we moved from Scranton to Beaufort back in January. Most of these boxes contained pictures of friends, families and various trips the folks had taken. While a few others contained significant and heartfelt mementos Mom and Dad had kept over the years. Trish led the effort – of course!

We all enjoyed reliving some of the moments captured in the photos and spent a good amount of time trying to guess who some of the people were in the pictures! There were also some very moving moments.

And then there was this moment: Trish dug out a gift that Dad had given Mom some years ago; a light, wooden hanging memento that hung in the dining room at the house in Scranton. Mom saw it and immediately said, “Bill, you gave this to me years ago!”

Dad: “What does it say?”

Mom: “It says: ‘God gave me you’

Dad: “Yeah, but he wouldn’t take you back”

He was very pleased with himself!

I can’t think of a better picture to end today’s entry. These are the good times we embrace …

Wow, it’s been a while since we posted. And that’s because Trish and I just returned from San Antonio, TX, a little break from the daily rhythm (and occasional chaos) at 503. The trip was for the Freedom Through Vigilance Association annual reunion and let me tell you – it was equal parts nostalgia, camaraderie, storytelling and eating! The Alamo Café, a favorite haunt of ours when we lived in San Antonio in the ‘90s, saw us for dinner on three consecutive evenings.  We met friends for dinner one of those nights (Myrna & Andy Felty) and made it a romantic fajita dinner for two the other two evenings.  We left with 5 dozen tortillas to bring back to family!

Blue Angel RV Park and Campground, Pensacola, Florida

Dinner at Alamo Cafe with Myrna & Andy Felty

Meanwhile, back at headquarters, a small army kept things running.

Thankfully, Anne put together a binder of notes entitled “So You Decided to Leave Your Parents With Someone Else” and we left them with a refrigerator full of labeled containers and at least three written versions of “how to turn the TV on” – none of which, I’m convinced, anyone actually looked at! 

The Home Team: The Real Fiesta Heroes

Stephanie took the first shift – cool, calm and extremely capable. She held down the fort, ran the schedule and kept everyone fed and functional. If caregiving were an Olympic event, she’d have earned a gold medal and a standing ovation.  The thing is, this is easy for Stephanie – she is Big Guy’s favorite fan, #1 grandchild and human laugh track!  Her kindness is extraordinary, her laughter is contagious and her caring is off the charts.  We had only one day of overlap before turning over the hand receipt to her – I wish it were longer …

Some notes left by Stephanie – she brings out the best in Big Guy:

When it was time to tag out, Bill and Deb jumped in. Smooth hand-off, minimal casualties. Bill being Bill, I imagine the hand-off was like a NASCAR pit crew – fast and focused, only with snacks!  Bill was kind enough to change the oil in my car while we were away and fill her up with gas.  But, I think my car missed me though: when I got back and took it out for a trip to the Parris Island Commissary, it locked the doors and wouldn’t let me out!  I could swear I heard her say “I’m sorry, Jerry. I’m afraid I can’t do that?” in an eerie HAL9000 voice (IYKYK).

Overwatch for the week was provided by Anne and Ariel, the local command support team. They didn’t just keep an eye on things, they ran recon missions, made sure everyone was fed and brought Denali and the kids over for periodic entertainment!

Final Thoughts

Trish and I were extremely grateful to Stephanie, Bill, Deb, Anne and Ariel for allowing us a few days to unwind on the road and in San Antonio.  Knowing that everyone at 503 was cared for made the trip even sweeter.

So here’s to family teamwork, military reunions and the kind of love that travels — whether it’s to San Antonio, from Maryland, Florida, North Carolina or just across the street.

I’ve learned there are three P’s associated with dementia: Patience, Perspective and Persistence.

Patience: Because there’s no rushing the moments – or the moods – that come with this disease. Some days, Big Guy is cheerful and calm; in fact, we’ve had several consecutive, really awesome days. At other times, he’s confused or frustrated. That’s when patience becomes an act of love (and this is sooo hard to remember!). We’ve learned that gentle redirection works better than correction – a change of subject, a little humor or putting on some music can turn frustration into a little calmness.

Patience also shows up in the everyday routines. We wait for Dad to come into the dining area to eat and without fail, he’ll decide it’s time to go to the bathroom right as we’re about to sit down for a meal. It’s like his internal dinner bell rings, not for food, but for a bathroom visit. It’s frustrating because some meals were meant to be eaten immediately following the cooking and preparation. However, we’ve learned to laugh (sorta), reheat plates and accept that mealtime runs on “Big Guy Time.”

Then there are moments of confusion that test both patience and compassion. This morning, he was fully washed and dressed – hair combed, clean clothes on, everything perfect – and about an hour later, he wanted to do it all over again. He had forgotten he had already been through the process earlier this morning. It’s hard not to remind him, but it’s kinder to just let him start again or gently say, “You look great, Dad; you’re already ready for the day.” Sometimes patience means letting him feel useful, even if it’s for the second (or third) time.

Perspective: Because caregiving for someone with dementia, especially when it’s your own parent, changes everything. It’s not like caring for a stranger or someone who isn’t related by blood; there’s history, emotion and love woven into every moment. You see flashes of the person they were and sometimes that hurts more than the forgetting. That’s where perspective comes in, learning to focus on what still is, rather than what’s been lost.

And part of that perspective means letting go of ego – which is especially hard for me. When you’re caring for a loved one, it’s easy to take things personally – to feel rejected, frustrated or unseen (and not just because of his macular degeneration). But dementia isn’t about you. It’s about them, their brain, their reality. Letting go of ego frees you to love without needing recognition, to forgive quickly and to meet them where they are instead of where you wish they could be. That’s something my daughter Stephanie said to me once about trying to connect with our employees – I find it useful everyday here.

Persistence: Because this journey takes endurance. It’s showing up, again and again – through repetition, exhaustion, confusion and even the funny moments we never saw coming. It’s holding on to love, even when it’s one-sided, because that’s what love does.

Some days are long, but every day still holds a little light. And that’s what the three P’s are really about: Patience in the rough times; Perspective in the heartache; and, Persistence through it all.

Three Spirits!!!

This week, we were blessed with the visit of a few of Anne’s grandchildren: Mason, Julie and Grant. It was great having them running around the house for a couple of days and Nanna & Big Guy enjoyed them being here, as well!

Of course, being with Uncle Jerry, there was plenty of candy, cookies, cakes & pastries to go around!

Digging Deep

The last few days, Dad has been digging pretty deep and pretty often. Let’s just say his nose has been working overtime, or rather, his fingers! It’s been about two weeks since his last cauterization, so we’re probably coming up on another one soon.

Dementia brings a lot of unexpected routines and this one has become ours. There’s an army of us trying to remind him gently, but he’s committed to the cause. If persistence is one of the three P’s, he’s the poster child.

We do what we always do: tell him to stop picking, get frustrated, clean up and move on. This morning, however … I was feeling especially creative. So, in a moment of deep (?) thought, I penned this:

A morning of fun, we all had
Breakfast, laundry, Dad getting mad
He hates being told to stop picking his nose
But the result is blood on his fingers and clothes

Trish keeps saying “hands away from your nose”
But we know what happens, we know how it goes

“I must pick my nose, I must dig deep,
I must pick my nose, whether awake or asleep
There is blockage up there, I must get it out
There is blockage up there, of this there’s no doubt”

“Your nose is bleeding now, your fingers are all red
I don’t understand how there’s blood left in your head!”

“See” he said, with conviction and pride
“I told you there was something blocking inside!”
“I must get the blood out, I think it’s a clot
I don’t think it’s your everyday snot!”

“You’re right,” we said, “it’s not your everyday snot!
“It’s blood,” we said, “and it’s quite a lot!”
“It’s my mission in life, before I am dead
To root out this terrible disease in my head”

“So, I’m going to attack it the only way I know how
Using the tools God gave me, my fingers for now.
I’m going to dig deep, as deep as I can
To remove what’s made me a different man”

“So onward and upward into the nose you go
Sticky, Licky, Pointer and Joe.
I’ve named all the soldiers in the NP brigade
Pinky, Stinky, Ringo and Wade”

“Up through the septum and into the brain
Nothing to lose, so much to gain
They’ll cure dementia, this band of pros
And all they did was go up through the nose!

That’s all for now, but I leave you with this thought by Helen Keller:

 “A happy life consists not in the absence, but in the mastery of hardships” – Helen Keller

Since Trish and I arrived here at 503 Sams Point Rd in Beaufort, SC (on August 8th at precisely 2:47PM!), one thing that became terribly obvious was how Nanna and Big Guy would sit in silence and do whatever it was they were doing. Whether they were in the kitchen eating, in the living room sitting in their chairs (without the TV on) or on the back deck – the sound of silence was deafening. How could they do this, I thought to myself? After nearly 70 years of being together (69 years of marriage), do you run out of things to talk about? Is this what is meant by people drifting apart and ending up with nothing to say to each other? Is this sitting and existing in silence yet another effect of this disease called dementia? (NOTE: When Trish and I are together and we’re sitting in silence, I know that’s the way she prefers me to be! )

Because this was odd to me, I tried to come up with ways for them to engage with each other, at least while I was there and had to sit through the silence. Since they used to pray the rosary together, I encouraged Mom to start that up again. Mom used to read news articles to Dad from that day’s newspaper, drawing from the headlines of the day; so, I asked her if that was an activity she could possibly start up again. At one point, she even went so far as to try her hand at crossword puzzles with Dad. However, in time, these little things dropped by the wayside in favor of silence and when I asked Mom about them, I got the frown and the simple “We just sorta stopped and I think he lost interest.”

So, I started playing music during meals, while we were in the kitchen / dining area. I’d pick the type of music I felt would be soothing to them: The Rippingtons and Fourplay were a couple of my modern jazz favorites. I’d slip in some Steely Dan, Chicago, Journey and then one day last week, Mom asked me if I could find some Glenn Miller because that’s what they used to dance to. You betcha! So, for the last couple of days, it’s been Glenn Miller and his Orchestra. In fact, I’m typing this listening to “Pennsylvania 6-5000” as they enjoy their lunch.

Today, before the tunes came on, they sat at the table, Mom doting on Dad or staring straight ahead out the window into the front yard. Dad eating – like a machine – with what seemed to be closed eyes. The silence disturbed only by the perennial question from Dad: “What’s for dessert?” Once dessert was served, he’d fall asleep right there at the table – warm, with a full belly – while Mom and I talked about what to do next.

But, then, as I watched them, I realized that maybe people who have been married a long time, let’s say – oh, 69 years or so – don’t really need to say anything to each other. Maybe after that much life and time together, the words have mostly been said. And maybe, sometimes, just being together is enough.

I think there’s a language that doesn’t need sound – the way Nanna reaches to steady Big Guy’s hand without thinking or how he seems to relax the moment he realizes she’s in the room. They sit side by side, not talking, not needing to. The silence between them isn’t empty – it’s full. Full of years, memories, arguments long forgiven (mostly), laughter that still echoes and love that’s been tested and proven again and again. I think I realize that after nearly seven decades, words would probably only get in the way.

Another failed attempt at saying the rosary out on the back deck – the drowsiness that comes with the warm temps and gentle breeze are the only temptation preventing them from completing that task!

Today, we were visited by two spirits: Nurse Kim and Nurse Shayla. Kim was here to get eyes on Dad and change the dressing on his arm. Shayla was here to help Dad in the shower and assist with getting dressed and ready for the day. Both take excellent care of Dad and we’re glad to have them as part of Dad’s care team. While here, Shayla took Mom’s blood pressure and pulse and after relaying some good numbers, she left for the day. She’ll be back on Wednesday. Kim stayed and it was good that she did – Mom felt dizzy and had to sit down for a few moments. This is the 2nd or 3rd time in the last 3 weeks she’s felt dizzy. Yep, a little reminder that she’s 95 years old …

Tonight, it’s Mom’s turn to cook dinner, so off to Cracker Barrel we go!!! This should make for some juicy material to write about tomorrow …

Until then, I’ll say: Lord, thank you for the kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud – the kind that endures through age, illness and silence. Teach us to love with patience, presence and peace. Because as Trish’s brother pointed out twice to us during our wedding ceremony – “Love is patient, love is kind …”

Some days write themselves. And the last couple of days felt that way. Pretty much a mix of comedy, blessings and just enough nose-picking to keep us humble.

First up: Uber Eats, Beaufort edition! Forget goofy drivers with insulated bags, driving over your lawn to get close to your house. Anne and Dave (and Denali) rolled up with dinner in a wagon. A wagon! Yep, nestled within a layer of mulch, top soil and “crop productivity enhancers” was this beautiful salad and dessert. Anne described it as: “A vibrant Cobb salad reimagined with a fine touch. Crisp garden greens with rows of jewel toned tomatoes, diced avacado, a mosaic of savory proteins marinated in a Dijon dressing and topped with a balsamic-honey dressing that balances brightness with subtle depth. For the finale, a cloudlike slice of angel food cake crowned with thawed out, sun ripened strawberries, a simple elegance on our uber plate.” Five stars for prompt service, family pricing and zero delivery fees. I think Dave found a new calling!

Meanwhile, Big Guy has had three good days in a row. That’s right – no anger, no frustration. We’re practically ready to throw him a medal. Of course, dementia has a sense of humor of its own, so he’s still enthusiastically picking his nose like it’s an Olympic sport! Yeah, PICKleball has nothing on him …

I can see a T-shirt: “Nose Picking – it’s not just a hobby!”

A pick-free moment and a genuine belly laugh …

We had a couple of nurses stop by yesterday talk to us about hospice care, take his vitals and change the dressing on his arm. Which by the way, looks tons better than the shredded hamburger meat it resembled on September 3rd.

The red marks near his shoulder isn’t new ink – it’s a result of him scratching. It’s important to keep those nails short …

Yesterday was a gorgeous day in Beaufort and the folks spent some time outside on the back deck … where they restarted their afternoon tradition of saying the rosary. Dad still remembers prayers …

And with Dave holding down the fort with Nanna and Big Guy, Trish, Anne and I headed to Savannah for a Bananas game. What a show! Circus acts, dancing umpires and general mayhem, with a little bit of baseball thrown in the mix! Anne enjoyed it most of all, especially when she somehow found excuses to be more in-touch with the players (and by that, you know I mean high-fives, handshakes, shoulder taps). Pretty sure she turned it into a contact sport …

Trish also found someone to pet …

More petting from Anne …

So, I’ll end today’s entry by giving thanks to God for the streaks of peace, for food delivered with love (and Denali) and for family nights filled with laughter.

Today’s theme seems to be equal parts sweetness, practicality and celebration.

For lunch, Nanna and Big Guy polished off the leftover BBQ ribs from Monday night (Trish cooked) –  and I have to say, they enjoyed every bite like it was a brand-new meal. Big Guy added a tall glass of chocolate milk to the mix. I mentioned to him that he and Oliver – my grandson – share the same love for it.

And speaking of Oliver…

Happy 5th Birthday, Oliver!
It feels like just yesterday he was learning to crawl around and now he’s a little man with a love for chocolate milk that rivals Big Guy’s. Full circle moments like these always make me smile – from one generation to the next, sometimes it’s the simple things that connect us. And then there’s baseball – I think he just might share his Pop’s love for the game, as well his Pop’s team. Last week, he took in two MLB games with his Mom and Aunt Stefia in Baltimore, where the Orioles were hosting the Yankees – Pop’s team! As he was heading home to New Jersey with his Mom, he told her “Actually Mom, I think I want to be a baseball player.” A few moments later, “And I want to be a Yankee.” I love that kid and I love this picture … this is what pure joy looks like!

Back to reality …

This morning also brought a delivery: two oxygen machines. They’re here “just in case,” and while it feels a little sobering to have them lined up, it’s also reassuring. Life with Nanna and Big Guy at 95 and 91 is a delicate dance of faith, laughter and preparation.

So today we mark the moment: ribs for lunch, chocolate milk for the boy(s), new oxygen machines for peace of mind and a birthday that reminds us how precious (and fleeting) each year really is.

The past two days have been pretty good – no major blow-ups, no significant problems. The nose picking continues and Big Guy started scratching in various places a few days ago – sometimes vigorously. His skin is so thin and easily bruised – he’s leaving marks. Yesterday, we were visited by two nurses – both came to talk through our next steps for hospice. They were here for two hours making sure we understood – Trish, Anne, Mom, Dad, me – what hospice entailed. Things like who pays for what, nurse visits, frequency of visits, social worker and Chaplain availability, medication. It was a lot of information for us to wrap our heads around and we’re sure to have a ton more questions as we get deeper into it. While here, they also changed the dressing of his wound on his left arm and noticed that although it was healing, there might be some fungus growing underneath all of the bandaging. They cleaned it and dressed it and will be prescribing some meds to take for a few days to clear it up. It could be the source of the itching, as well.

Anne has been helping him shower every other day while he has his arm wrapped up. He’ll be able to take care of this with less assistance when the dressing comes off (he’ll still need some assistance); however, until then, he needs the extra help in the shower. And there’s no one better than Anne to help with that, having years of experience working with elderly residents at the St Mary’s Villa in Moscow, PA. In the future, we’re looking to have a nurse visit on shower days – as part of hospice – to ensure he doesn’t fall or hurt himself.

The weather is dipping down into the mid-80’s these days – cold by nonagenarian standards! So, sweaters are a necessity!

Most days, Dad stares quietly at the table or drifts off into sleep, forgetting the little details of what’s happened earlier in the day, the night before, the day before. He has no knowledge of the government shutdown, the Secretary of War issuing new directives to our Nation’s military leadership, a burned Mormon church in Michigan. But in those quiet pauses, there are flashes of connection – a smile at a joke, a sip of Amaretto, a spark of recognition when we remind him of something familiar. Of course, he is particularly amused as we regale moments of his past when he said something funny, snarky or sarcastic! Those small moments carry so much weight, reminding us that presence matters more than memory.

For the life of me, I don’t know how Anne provided the care she did for Mom and Dad for seven months on her own. But, I thank God for the gift of family – from the littlest ones celebrating birthdays to the elders who guide us with their love and presence. I pray God grants us health, laughter, patience and the strength to walk together in faith each day.

Until next time …

Bad night with little sleep. Mom was up with Dad and his bloody nose for a few hours in the early morning hours (between midnight and 2:00AM). Mom was up by 0930 and ready for breakfast – a couple of pancakes with strawberries, syrup, whipped cream and a fried egg.

Dad finally got out of bed at 1045 and after cleaning up in the bathroom, came out to the kitchen for breakfast and coffee. Trish stripped the bed and washed the bedding – this is a daily occurrence.

Anne changed the dressing on his left arm; it’s healing well, with the exception of one troublesome spot. We also noticed how he’s been scratching other parts of his body – his arm above the wound, his forehead and his right arm. He says it itches, but we think it’s a habit, similar to picking his nose. Below, Anne caringly points out the area on his arm healing a bit slower than the rest of wound area.

Today we’re trying out more of a Michael Jackson approach – he’ll be wearing one glove on his right hand and the fore finger (that’s the “pointer” finger for you Gen Zers) of his left hand. We’ll see if that works!

We took a short trip out to Crystal Lake after eating and wound bandage changing. It rained on us a little, but we got out of the house for a little while.

Yesterday, Friday (26 Sep), we were visited by two spirits: Mary, the occupational therapist and Beth, who spoke to us about hospice.

This is Mary doing a few exercises with Dad. This particular move is called the “ICE Dance” – when ICE shows up at your house …

This is Beth explaining hospice to us later the same morning … a nurse will be coming on Monday, 29 Sep to complete a more thorough assessment. However, all indications are – Dad is an excellent candidate for in-home hospice. Once approved, we’ll share what the benefits are for that …

This is Anne and Trish re-explaning to Mom what Beth said about hospice …