I meet so many interesting people on a daily basis. My friends, that know me well, know I have a soft spot for seniors and our veterans. Especially the WWII vets. WWII has been romanticized in the movies to be sure, and I certainly enjoy a good WWII movie on a lazy Sunday afternoon. The men were more handsome, and the women were elegant or gutsy, depending on the movie your watching. The sad reality is, we don't have a lot of these national heroes left. When they are gone, another piece of our history is relegated to the history books only. That is one reason I enjoy meeting these men and women. I have met so many wonderful men and women that have served our country. I could listen to their stories for hours. I have met a Tuskegee Airman, fighter pilots, D-Day nurses and a host of others.
One particular Saturday when I was scheduled to work, my first appointment of the day was with an 87 year old gentleman. The information that I had on the patient indicated he was married, but I really didn't have much information going into the appointment. When I got to the patient's home, an older man answered the door. I could tell he had been a handsome young man, he still was. I assumed that this person was a friend or relative of the person I was there to see. I introduced myself and he did the same. To my surprise, this was my patient. He was the best, most healthy looking 87 year old that I had ever seen. I was feeling a little confused as he invited me in and led me to his kitchen to sit down. He got a phone call right after we sat down and excused himself to answer it. As I waited, I looked around. There were framed family pictures on the wall, he had children's art work on the cabinet doors in the kitchen and little notes written in crayon declaring he was the "best grandpa in the world". There were birthday cards and drawn pictures, also from children, on his bulletin board. I could see the main living room from where I was sitting and I noticed a few framed photos of military jets, and furniture that was Asian in design. This was a military man. He finished his phone call and sat down with me. We chatted for a few minutes about the weather, and what a nice view he had from his kitchen. Finally, I asked him what had prompted a call for a hospice evaluation. He explained that he had recently been diagnosed with cancer. He was feeling good and he had heard from friends how helpful hospice was "when the time came." He had discussed everything with his wife and kids and decided that he probably wanted hospice, but first he wanted to hear about it. After hearing about the services we offer, he told me that he was going to get some treatment to see if it would help, but if it didn't he would be back in touch. He explained that he was trying to take care of everything now, so his wife wouldn't have to worry, or take care of it later. He and his wife had been married 64 years. He said "she's off shopping right now, I didn't want her having to deal with this." He was very casual and matter of fact about everything. Not that he didn't get it, he did, but this was a man that very definitely had not spent his 87 years sitting around waiting for things to happen. He took control of all aspects of his life.
I asked him if he had been in the service. I already knew the answer, I had noticed the military ring he was wearing. He had been a fighter pilot in the Air Force. Well, now he had my undivided attention. He invited me to see his trophy room. As he led me to this room, he explained that he had been in the Air Force for 40 years, and had lived all over the world and collected a lot of things. His "trophy room", in my mind, was more like a mini museum. He had pictures of himself from the time he went into the Air Force, all the way to retirement. He had pictures of planes/jets he had flown, as well as a model jet he had put together. He had shrapnel from a bombing of the building he had worked in, in the 60's, and he told me the story of what had happened. A pair of leather gloves were hanging from a nail on the wall. I asked him about them, and he explained that when you were flying, you needed protection for your hands. He had bought those gloves right after he started flying, and worn them on every mission. There were also framed pictures, pictures of places, people, and various military jets. Also in this room was a desk and computer. You don't see a lot of 87 year old people that have a computer set up.
I asked him if he had written any of his stories down for his children and grandchildren. He said he had and then started going through a pile of papers next to his desk. Saying, he knew he had "it" somewhere. He came up with a manuscript of his story. Except it was more than just a few stories written down, it was the story of his life. Complete with excerpts from a diary he had kept during the war, and photos. He told me he had typed it up, had it bound, and he had given a copy to his kids and grand kids. What he showed me was the original copy with all the edits, corrections, and coffee stains. I looked through it, read a little and handed it back and thanked him for taking the time to show me everything,and for his years of service. Then, even though I went to his house to hopefully make a difference in his life, he made a difference in mine. He gave me that original manuscript, and apologized that it was in such bad shape. To say I was touched, would be an understatement. I was actually choked up. Here was a man that didn't even know I existed 2 hours prior to that, had a family that obviously loved him, and he was giving me this piece of his life. This was a man that had served our country for 40 years, who took care of the business of dying, so his wife of 64 years wouldn't have to and was "the best grandpa in the world". This man is also now, my hero.
