Ready to go

Dad is still by far one of the youngest, if not THE youngest in his unit at the VA.  And as we suspected, his roommate, the oldest resident, passed away a few days after our last visit. We wondered how this would affect dad and turns out, he seems relatively unfazed by the whole ordeal.  He said that some family had visited the roommate and when he died, an American flag was draped over him. We think dad probably sat there working on his crosswords the entire time.  We are a little bit relieved that he doesn't get shaken up by any of this. FTD makes sure of that, at least for now.

Just this past weekend, we paid another visit and dad casually told us that another resident died.  It was one of his smoking buddies who was bound to a wheelchair.  His name was Jerry.  Dad often liked to push Jerry around in the wheelchair as if he was "helping" and it seemed like Jerry didn't mind.  It was heartbreaking when dad would want to take Jerry with us to shoot pool or leave the unit and it's just not allowed. He'd always say, "C'mon, Jerry. Ready to go?" as he'd start to push the wheelchair. 

Well, Jerry was ready to go.  Sad because he was one of dad's buddies, and one of the "younger" ones at 67. We don't know why his care required him to be in lockdown and we may never know.  All dad knows is that "he's buried right outside in the cemetery."  And that was that. 

In some ways, FTD provides a sad blessing.  It's best we don't get to see dad mourn because the disease make him incapable of doing so.  But we end up doing a lot of the mourning for him. 

So long, Dorman.  And now, Jerry.