This past Friday I was off school so I went to visit my uncle at his nursing home. I am the only one who goes to see him since he has no children and his former wife lives too far away to travel on her broom. I wrote about my uncle and ex-aunt before in This Call May Be Used For Training Purposes, a story that would be much more amusing if it involved a family other than my own.
According to anecdotes told throughout my childhood by my late father, this uncle who has outlived the rest of his family was once a very bright, conversational fellow. Of the three brothers born to my grandparents during the Depression, he was the one to graduate an elite high school with a promising future. But World War II changed everything. Suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder long before it had a name, my uncle was never the same after serving overseas.
Now in his mid-eighties and still noticeably depressed, his lifelong mild good nature along with his gender make him a hot commodity in the exceptional health care residence he is fortunate enough to call home. The place is filled with women. It’s bright and airy. The staff is upbeat and attentive. And like Norm in Cheers, everybody knows his name. But it would be too much to expect him to see any of these things as positives.
On this visit, I found him in the library facing the giant fish tank. Two other residents were watching the flat screen TV but my uncle was on fish patrol. I sneaked up and kissed his cheek and he smiled. Then I pointed at the fish staring back at him.
OSV: Do you think anyone would know if a fish was bored?
He looked at me without expression.
UNCLE: I know.
I asked if he was receiving all the magazines I order for him at his request – Discover, National Geographic, Smithsonian. He said yes, then waited a bit and said he wasn’t sure, maybe not. I went with the yes. I knew there would be plenty more no’s coming.
How was he feeling? Not good. Nothing specific, but not good. And the food was terrible. The staff wasn’t so nice. There was nothing to do. I asked what he would like to do. He said the magazines were fine but if only there were books he could read.
Did I mention we were in the library? Four walls and three of them lined with books, floor to ceiling. One entire wall devoted to large-print editions in every subject imaginable. I waved my arms to encompass the room.
OSV: I take it then that you’re finished reading all of these?
UNCLE: None of them interest me.
OSV: What interests you? Tell me and I’ll bring you books.
UNCLE: Algebra.
OSV: Okay. Do you want algebra workbooks or theory?
UNCLE: Well, maybe science.
OSV: Astronomy? Biology? What field of science?
UNCLE: New discoveries.
OSV: Like in Discover magazine?
UNCLE: Yeah. But a book. There’s no books here like that.
I looked at him from inside this sad game I always manage to get pulled into.
OSV: You just like to complain, don’t you?
UNCLE: (grinning) You know me so well.
I guess that’s something.
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