We settle on Gulliver‘s travels. He adjusts himself and closes his eyes. I read several pages out of Gulliver‘s travels. Periodically The Sea Captain readjusts himself. His hands are cold so he puts them under the blanket. Then he gets warm and he takes him out. He stretches his legs. He’s stiff. I offered to rub his foot for him. It’s itchy. And stiff. I tell him my dad used to exchange foot rubs for cartoons. I rub his feet for a few minutes. I keep reading Gulliver’s travels. He goes in and out of dozing… But I know he hears it.
Finally, I have to get up and go. I tell him I’ll come back. I watch him drink a little bit more of the shake. I gave him a big kiss on the forehead. He brightens up and squeezes my hand. He tells me he’s looking forward to me coming back tomorrow.
As the days got shorter for the Sea Captain, it became harder for him to move to his library (which, by the way was fitted out in proper nautical style), so some mornings I’d just sit at the end of his bed and read him papers, show him old war time postcards, or help him put his socks and shoes on -even if he wasn’t going anywhere. A common element I’ve witnessed at the deathbeds of so many of my beautiful seniors is the desire to maintain one’s dignity as long as they are cognitive. Sometimes this means something as simple as combing the hair.
I remember the day my Marine Fred died, his niece and I (unaware it was the final day), decided that after two and a half weeks at the VA it was time to give him a shave. I’d never seen him with scruff before that time. Fred wasn’t able to communicate much, but his face expressed appreciation.
March 4, 2022
I popped in to see The Sea Captain for a few minutes before going to work. Timing was good… I helped him put his socks on and his shoes on. I really treasure little things like this. It makes you feel good to help out someone who can’t help themself. And I feel like they’re small decencies. I remember Colonel Skardon (A Bataan Death March Survivor) talking about his friends who would rub his feet for hours to help with the pain when he was in the hospital. Small decencies.
I sit at the end of his bed and we talk. I throw the ball for the dog. The dogs run around like crazy animals… One ball goes too far and the dog takes out a fake plant. He laughs. We talk a little bit about Bill Mauldin‘s cartoons… The whimsy of Willy and Joe. Then we just talk about stuff in general. Finally, I have to go. I hate to say goodbye… Situations like this I never know if it’s the last. But I tell him I’ll be back. I have a marathon this weekend… But after that I will be home. And I’ll come see him. He says, “thank you. No really… Thank you so much.”
I give him a kiss on the forehead and tell him I’ll be back soon. I say maybe I’ll bring so-and-so. He’s a good egg. RW says, “as opposed to rotten egg?” I say, Yes, we throw the rotten eggs out.”
Perhaps these notes and recollections seem mundane. A lot of life is mundane. I like mundane. It causes you to sit ad be still. Enjoy. Breathe. Take a few moments to see life through the eyes of someone who has already lived so much of it.
The day the Sea Captain died
The Sea Captain went home to be with his Christ and his beloved wife today. He missed his wife of 71 years so much. When I was talking with him yesterday, he kept staring ahead and saying, "Liberty, Isn't she so beautiful. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.” At first I thought he meant the watercolor painting on the wall. But then I remembered his eyesight was almost completely gone. He was blind. It was then I knew then he was going home soon - to be with his “great lady.” So much - but so little is known about the passing of life. We hear "rumors". But we'll never know till it's our turn. Still - little moments like this make death beautiful. Almost like God sends his emissary to walk the last few steps of life, fear free.
I miss my intellectual chats with the Sea Captain… discussing all things Ceasar, the Gallic Wars, George Washington’s particular sense of humor and the pros and cons of one crossing the Rubicon. We had fun, but I was definitely left with a lot of homework. The Sea Captain gave me a list of books to read, including Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. “Take your time. It’s a difficult book. I don’t normally like audiobooks, but Decline might be a good one to listen to,” he says. I have a painting hanging on my wall of Lord Nelson’s ship, “The Victory.” It reminds me of him.
I’ll leave you with one of my favorite things the Sea Captain told me: At one of the last old timers breakfasts he made it to, he got into a debate with a retired Army General. The Army was advocating getting rid of scoring in a particular field of competition. “Too much pressure. People shouldn’t be forced to get the highest scores,” was the opinion.
Despite being 99.5 years old and not feeling par to the course for some time, this line of reasoning fired the Sea Captain up. “Why not?!” He rebutted with energy. “Why shouldn’t we try to be the best. Doesn’t matter if we can’t be, but we should at least try.”
And I agree.
