The faces of goodness

From bottom left, Sidney, Harriet, above them Carol and Iris, Bob above

Some years ago my brother-in-law said that someone called him a mensch and he wondered what it meant and if it applied. I explained that a mensch is someone who does the right thing, not to be rewarded, not to achieve fame, but simply because it is the right thing to do. A mensch has to act the way they do because it is hard wired into them to be the best they can be and when their good deeds are pointed out to them, he or she can't see the big deal. "Yes," I told him, "You are a mensch."

So, too, with my dear cousins from New Jersey. They are the faces of goodness and giving. They are the faces of love. Yet if you point out to them just how wonderful they are, they just laugh and shrug. They are the way they are, to them it is no big deal.

Several months ago I wrote how my ancient parents wanted to go to another wedding in New Jersey and how I had to put my foot down and say no they couldn't go. At that time, Bob and Iris, parents of the groom, told the folks they would come out to Minnesota to visit after the wedding. True to their word, they flew out on Saturday and spent three days with my parents and me. Pretty remarkable, yet, this is the fourth time they have come to Minnesota in six years. 

When my dad was in a nursing home in Brooklyn and my mom was isolated in the apartment, they drove from Jersey in the snow, to take them out, to make sure they were OK. The old lady had five married nephews and nieces in the NY/NJ area, but only Bob and Iris took time to help.

Ninety-six and ninety-seven is truly ancient. The old lady, who is almost blind, can still remember many stories (as long as she figured in them), but the old man goes in and out of lucidity. One minute he can't remember who anyone is, and the next he is full of energy and anecdotes. It is almost like a switch is thrown. On Sunday, he spent most of the day sleeping on top of his bed. I went over at five and told him he had to get up to go out, and he did. I told him to wash his face, put in his teeth and get ready. Off he shuffled to the bathroom. But when he came out he was so refreshed he did a tiny dance. Go figure.

My daughters and a son-in-law joined us at the restaurant, a Chinese Buffet. In the past the old man has enjoyed walking with one of the grand daughters and picking out his own dinner. He did that again and I cracked the crab legs on the plate. He chewed and chewed and chewed but couldn't swallow. The night before I cut his lamb chop into the tiniest pieces and he had no trouble. But now he could not swallow his food. Several chairs down the old lady was sampling from the plate I brought her. I gave her some tiny clams still in the shell and bacon wrapped shrimp with a toothpick among other items. "Mom!" I yelled, "That is a toothpick! Don't eat it!" Oh my god. Several minutes later we heard an amazing crunching. "Mom! You are eating the clam shell! Spit it out!" My daughter helped her. Oy, oy, oy.

The next day the old man couldn't swallow his pancakes at Perkins. He can swallow his pills but can't seem to get the masticated food down his gullet. We had an appointment at the clinic this morning and he has lost two pounds since last Thursday. The hospice folks are going to come in and evaluate his needs. He can live a long time on Ensure. He agreed that he didn't want tube feeding should it come to that, DNI, DNR. I told him that he needs to get out of bed each day so he doesn't depress my mother, and because he does not want her to feel bad, he agreed. At this point, who knows?

This is probably the last time Bob and Iris will see the folks. They gave my parents a priceless gift of love, their time and attention and I am grateful.