The Unfulfilled Wish

The year, 1996. The month, August. The date, the eleventh. My Grandmother, more devote than the Pope in my eyes and the woman who taught me how to knit when I was 4, had fallen. She was rushed to the ER, unconscious. Had she been awake, she would not have gone. This was on eleventh. We knew of her aneurysm, abdominal, for years. It was her choice to leave it rather than have the surgery to mend it and die a slow and painful death from a year recovery. Normally, an aneurysm kills you instantly but Grandma's didn't. She stayed with us long enough for us all to say goodbye. She passed on 12th. At that time, here in New York, if you fell, hit your head and expired with in 24 hours of a hospital admission, an autopsy must be performed. 

Before I continue, you must know Grandma's wishes. Wake one day, bury the next. This had been repeated after every, "I'll not live to see you (fill in your event here)." By the way, she lived to see just about all of them. 

As it happened, this was the tail end of a busy homicide weekend here in Buffalo. Homicide autopsies take priority over your common grandma deaths, regardless how uncommon your grandma is. She was bumped to 13th for the autopsy. The same day she arrived at the funeral parlor and was ready for her wake on Wednesday, the 14th. However, the burial was not the next day. Assumption of Mary is the 15th of August. Did you know, Catholics do not bury their dead on Holy days? She was buried on Friday, the 16th. So much for Grandma's wishes. 

Moral of the story: Don't leave the living instructions. We will mess them up every time!

Lest We Forget

General John Logan

me·mo·ri·al

  [muh-mawr-ee-uhl, -mohr-]  Show IPA

noun

1.

something designed to preserve the memory of a person, event,etc., as a monument or a holiday.

2.

a written statement of facts presented to a sovereign, alegislative body, etc., as the ground of, or expressed in the formof, a petition or remonstrance.

adjective

3.

preserving the memory of a person or thing; commemorative:memorial services.

4.

of or pertaining to the memory.

Origin: 

1350–1400; Middle English  < Late Latin memoriāle,  noun use of neuterof Latin memoriālis  for or containing memoranda. See memory, -al¹

We have Armed Forces Day to honor those serving in the military. We have Veteran's Day to honor those who served and survived. I thank you for putting you lives on the line for freedom. However, it seems  some have forgotten the reason for the day off the last Monday in May.    

Originally referred to as Decoration Day, Memorial Day was a day of reconciliation and a coming together to honor fallen Civil War soldiers. In 1868, General John Logan officially proclaimed the need of a day of remembrance. It was first observed on 30 May 1868. Flowers were placed on all the Union and Confederate soldiers' graves. 

In 1873, New York state was to first recognize Memorial Day. By 1890 all the Northern states did. The South, however, refused to recognize it until after World War I. Until then, they chose to honor their fallen soldiers separately. After World War I, it was changed to honor all American wars. The actual birthplace of Memorial Day is considered Waterloo, New York. In May of 1966, Lyndon B. Johnson declared it a national holiday.

We cherish too the Poppy red 
That goes on fields when valor led, 
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
                             ~Moina Michael

Traditional observance of Memorial day has diminished over the years. Many Americans nowadays have forgotten the meaning and traditions of Memorial Day. At many cemeteries, the graves of the fallen are increasingly ignored, neglected. Most people no longer remember the proper flag etiquette for the day. While there are towns and cities that still hold Memorial Day parades, many have not held a parade in decades. Some people think the day is for honoring any and all dead, and not just those fallen in service to our country

On January 19, 1999 Senator Inouye introduced bill S 189 to the Senate which proposes to restore the traditional day of observance of Memorial Day back to May 30th instead of "the last Monday in May". On April 19, 1999 Representative Gibbons introduced the bill to the House (H.R. 1474). The bills were referred the Committee on the Judiciary and the Committee on Government Reform. To this day, the bill has not been past.

In December 2000, our nation was asked that on Memorial Day, at 3:00 PM, a National Moment of Remembrance be observed in silence or listening to Taps. 

I've been lucky. Not one member of my family who was in the military perished in battle but, I will spend my day, remembering yours.

dictionary.com

http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html

Gather around to see the world in living color!

Up until the late sixties, everything outside of our world was black and white. Or so we were lead to believe when we gathered around the family television set. I Love Lucy, Gunsmoke, Flipper and The Ed Sullivan Show. Walter Cronkite gave us the news of Vietnam in black and white. On Sunday nights we watched Wagon Train and The Wonderful World of Disney. Then it happened...color.

Grandma and Grandpa had the first colored set in our family. I remember the first time I ever saw the NBC peacock in color! Wow! We had been told by both parents and grandparents that if we napped during the day, we could stay late that first Sunday evening to watch Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color. Mr. Disney explained how they would have the same great programming but in color. He then turned the program over to Professor Ludwig Von Drake. 

Each year, when the income tax came, my parents bought a large, expensive item. It was our family tradition.  It might be a refrigerator, stove, or washer. You get the idea. The year came when the return was used for a 19" portable colored television.

Back when color was new, everyone seemed to be an expert on adjusting the color. The rule of thumb was to adjust the red on the picture, never on a person's face. It was a Sunday afternoon when dad decided the color was just not right. After several minutes, he announced, "There, the color is perfect!". He was right, the grass on the golf tournament was a perfect emerald green. I have often since wondered, "Is the sky really that color purple in Florida?"

Bus Stop

She was found under a secluded rural bus stop sign.  She held tight to a stuffed toy and a wooden pop gun. The blood on the apron of her dress already changed from bright red to a muddy brown.  The police are gone.  All the evidence they needed has been bagged and tagged. 

The five year old girl sits in the corner of Dr. Wyckoff’s office holding her stuffed toy in a death grip.  She rocks back and forth; sucking on her thumb.  Inaudible sounds can be heard coming from her but no one can make out what she is saying.  That is, if she is really saying anything at all.  Wyckoff calls in one of the nursing staff to have the girl shown her room.  He wants her back in his office in an hour. 

An hour later she sits in the chair opposite the doctor.  She is still rocking, still mumbling incoherently. Wyckoff watches her closely.  He decides hypnosis will be the best way to get information from little Miss Jane Doe.  He is certain this will be the fastest way to get through to her.  He has seen trauma cases like this before.

She watches the doctor as he gets ready to hypnotize her.  He interests her. He turns on a recorder while he explains to her what will happen and that he will be recording the session. He calls her Jane and asks her to relax.  How much more can she relax?  She’s almost asleep.  He asks her to look at the tip of his pen as he continues to ask her to relax and tells her she is very sleepy.  

Dr. Wyckoff asks her the same question she has been asked a dozen times since she was brought here, “What is your name?”

“Tessa Greystone.” She’s mute, but tells him in her thoughts.

“We can’t call you Jane forever.  Your parents gave you a name.  What is your name?”

“Tessa Greystone!” She thinks the man may be hard of hearing. 

“Can you tell me your mommy and daddy’s names?”

“Honey and Sweetheart.”

Jane continues to stare at him. 

“Let’s go back in time.  Let’s go back to a couple hours before you were found at the bus stop.  What happened then?”

“I killed Jeremy.”

“What is your name?”

“I’ve told you, Tessa Greystone.”

“Go back a few days before.  What are you doing?”

“Telling Jeremy what happened to Abby. I killed her.”

“Tell me your name.”

“Tessa Greystone.”

“I want you to think back before that.  What happened at that time?”

Tessa sighs. “I killed King, the dog next door. Oh, and the cat, Billy. Have you seen my mommy and daddy?”

“What is your name?”

“TESSA GREYSTONE!!”

Dr. Wyckoff tells her she can wake up.  He calls for the nurse to come take her to her room.  He settles himself at his desk to listen to the recording before sending it to transcription. He is shocked by what he hears.

“Tessa Greystone.” She doesn't speak aloud, but in her thoughts.

“We can’t call you Jane forever.  Your parents gave you a name.  What is your name?”

“Tessa Greystone!” She thinks the man may be hard of hearing. 

“Can you tell me your mommy and daddy’s names?”

“Honey and Sweetheart.”

He listens to the rest of the recording.  Wyckoff calls nursing to have Jane Doe, Tessa, back to his office. She is back in her seat, staring into space.  He hits the recorder start. 

“Tessa, I have heard your answers.”

“I didn’t think you heard me.”

“Tessa, I have one more question for you.  Why did you kill those animals and people?”

“Fluffy was hungry.” Tessa holds her stuffed toy closer.

Dr. Wyckoff stops the recorder, rewinds and listens.  He calls the duty nurse to sit with Tessa as he calls the police and child protective services. As the little girl is being carried away, the stuffed toy falls to the floor. 

The doctor rewinds the recorder to the beginning.  He’s decided not to leave this progress report to transcription. He hadn't realized the recorder had been on when Tessa was being taken away.

“WHERE ARE YOU TAKING FLUFFY!?” The small voice had wailed.

The doctor’s jaw drops as he turns around to see what he thought was the stuffed toy with the gun pointed to his head. His scream was never heard when the gun popped. 

“Fluffy will be hungry.”

 

Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

    It was many and many a year ago,
          In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
          By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
          Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,
          In this kingdom by the sea;
    But we loved with a love that was more than love-
          I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
          Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
          In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
          My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her highborn kinsman came
          And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
          In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
          Went envying her and me-
    Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
          In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
          Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
          Of those who were older than we-
          Of many far wiser than we-
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
          Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
          Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
          In the sepulchre there by the sea,
          In her tomb by the sounding sea.

A Thanksgiving To Remember

This is the time of year that we all give thanks, or at least that is the theory, for the blessings we have. My thought had always been that while heads were bowed during grace, the blessings are for more material things. Mom is giving thanks that her best china hasn't been broken to pieces, Dad is giving thanks that as soon as this is over he can take a nap before the football game. Bradley is giving thanks that he found a part for his car, Bella is giving thanks that she's not pregnant and little Billy is giving thanks that he can play his video games when all this family stuff is over.

Years ago I worked on the pediatric ward of one of our local hospitals. Now I know many of you are thinking, how sad, all those sick children. True, it could be very sad. But, as Art Linkletter used to say (yes, I am old) "Kids say the darnedest things".

This tale is not, however, not a happy one. It is the story of a little four year old Arabian girl who touched my heart in such a way that I will never forget her.

It was this time of the year and on the pediatric floor we were very busy. It's the middle of respiratory season. Children with asthma, sinus infections and chronic bronchitis are the main admissions. You can walk onto the floor and almost hear the oxygen tents at work. It was my year to work Thanksgiving and my shift began at three o'clock. Because of the holiday, several of the children had been discharged earlier in the day and most were expected to leave during my shift.

After, what would be considered the dinner hour, admissions called stating they had a child to be admitted with a fracture caused by a fall at her uncle's home. She was visiting from nearby Toronto in Canada for the holiday. Oh, she was tiny and timid, obviously scared to death. All I kept thinking was, here is this poor little girl, in a strange country surrounded by all these people poking and prodding, not understanding a word we said. How frightening that must be.

It was during the admission process while I was getting her into a gown, that I noticed a red marking on her back, a welt you might say. The welt was about an inch and a half wide and approximately four or five inches long. Of course, this was pointed out to my charge nurse who immediately called on the attending resident to look at. To all of us, this looked like it was done by a belt. This gets the ball rolling with Child Protective Services (CPS) in a heartbeat. I was asked to stay with her until her family returned from completing the admissions process. I picked her up, took her to the rocker and sat there with her, stroking her hair, humming and telling her that everything would be just fine, no one would hurt her again. She, of course, didn't understand the words I was saying but I believe she did understand the tears in my eyes and my gentle touch.

Her mother, back from admissions, took a chair but made no move to comfort the child. She sat there with her eyes darting back and forth like a scared rabbit. This really was not unusual. Many of the women I had encountered over the years at the hospital from Yemen or any of the Arabian countries do not speak English. I looked at her, smiled what I'd hoped would be a comforting smile, letting her know that everything would be fine. No sense speaking the words she wouldn't understand. Her uncle was the next to enter the room and the child tensed so much that I knew in my heart that he was the one that had done this to her.

When the resident came in to speak with the family, I gave her to her mother and left the room. I immediately expressed my thoughts to my charge nurse and asked that we move her to the "fishbowl" to keep an eye, not only on her, but her uncle. The "fishbowl" is what we called the observation room across from the nurses station. It's comprised of all windows and used most of the time for seizure patients. My spot at the nurse's station was directly across from this room and I kept a close watch to what was going on in there. This was one time my nosy nature was a blessing. I noticed the behavior of her with each family member, and each time her uncle came into the room she'd manage to get out of there and come running to me. It seemed I'd become her safe haven.

It finally came out that the uncle had sexually abused her, gave her the whipping and pushed her down the stairs as a warning as to what would happen to her if she ever told anyone what he had done.

This little one, that touched me so, nominated me as Employee of the Month (I lost to the groundskeeper. Mowing the lawn is so much more important than what I was doing), sent me cards and drawings. She came to visit me a few months later to give me the greatest of all her gifts, in English she said "Thank you". Suddenly, the cards and pictures stopped. I received word though her mother (just try and find someone to translate Arabic when you need to) that her uncle was released and beat her to death.

So each year, when my head is bowed in prayer, I think of that little one, who so many years ago changed the blessings I count.

A Visit From St. Nicholas

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"