It began with a phone call from Junius,
a polite request for a ride to the doctor.
Not quite a good friend, but always there was
an unexplainable good feeling between us.
I loved to hug him.
There is noone else
for this 89-year-old black man,
a pillar of the community,
a church trustee,
a planning comissioner,
a fellow participant in diversity conversations,
teaching us what it was like to grow up
in the south before integration.
He is a recent widower. Peggy,
his beloved wife, and
a sister breast cancer survivor,
recurred a few years ago,
and slipped away in September, while
I was in California.
Doctor appointments lead to lab visits,
talks with doctors, calls to nurses,
requests for more information,
better treatment.
He gets weaker by the day,
losing weight, sicker and sicker.
Renal failure, they say, but not
quite ready for dialysis yet.
Eat this, don’t eat that.
Keep your legs up. Don’t worry.
Sister and nephew come to town.
On a Sunday they take him to the ER.
He is desperately sick.
He is admitted and begins dialysis.
He begins to recover a little.
goes from ICU to a room,
then to skilled nursing.
Sister and nephew leave.
No nursing home has been selected.
The social worker calls me.
“He needs to leave soon,” she announces.
“Today if possible.”
I scurry around town to find a place for him.
I travel to Little Rock for my own chemotherapy.
They sneak him out to the nursing home
that afternoon.
I visit the next day.
bringing his mail from the post office.
We list his bills.
I read him his bank account.
He insists.
Now I’m in his financial business
as well as his health business.
I don’t sleep well. I worry about
taking more responsibility.
Too much involvement.
I worry about taking him in the car
to his home to get his things,
as I have promised.
In the morning,
I sit by the window with my tea.
Several finches are at the feeder.
Then a couple of pewees, new for me.
I close my eyes.
In the quiet my mother appears.
“You are at the right place,
doing the right thing,” she says.
“You didn’t get to take care of me,
I wanted to spare you that burden.
I’m sorry we didn’t have that time together.
I deprived us both of gifts
we may have had for each other.
“Take care of this lovely man.
Love him like a father,” she says.
“Be with him to the end.
Savor the gifts he has for you,
and notice the joy
in the caring.”
Junius is happy to see me,
He is dressed and ready to go
on our “field trip.”
He is sitting in the dining room
with the others, playing “hangman.”
“G,” he shouts to the therapist.
She puts a “G” in one of the blanks.
“It’s a common fruit,” she reminds.
We take a walker and manage fine.
He is so happy to be in his house.
He puts in his contacts,
calls his sister,
finds his checkbook, his radio, his phone.
Picks out some clothes,
changes his pants.
He goes from room to room,
does one thing at a time..
He calls his sister again.
I am learning patience.
My body relaxes.
I notice how happy I feel.
