Note: Found this, half done, in my drafts. Now that I know the ending, I decided to finish it. It might help to explain the prolonged silence from this little corner of Blogland.
I know, I know! I promised there'd be no more "Prince" rants here. I didn't mean to, but I lied. So here's your chance....Turn back now before I get started!
Having been here, dancing attendance for more than a month, Miss Oriss returned north in mid-May, to take care of some business, say hello to her life and her garden, celebrate her daughter's birthday, and, last but not least, to maintain her sanity. The Prince seemed like he'd manage fine without her for a while. Not only did he rebuff all her efforts to manage his medications for him --- "My body may be veak, but my brain is still sharp!" Right. He is certainly entitled to his opinion. It also seemed that she was putting a crimp in his social life. Overheard snippets of telephone conversations ---
"We can meet for dinner after my daughter goes home...." or
"I'll call you when my daughter goes back to The North." And to her----
"So, when are you going home?" Wanting to know the date and the hour. So she did what any angry, frustrated person, who does not like Florida much anyway, would do. She went home.
Fast forward a week.
Ring, ring.
"Molly, I'm not doing so good."
He pauses for the gravity of this announcement to sink in. I roll my eyes but don't let it reach my voice.
"What's wrong now?" I ask, trying not to emphasize the "now."
"I think I may have to go to hospital." Dramatic pause while he catches his breath ...."I'm very veak....."
When I get to his house he has summoned a nurse's aide he met at his breakfast joint. She tells me his pulse rate is very high.
She's new to his games. I don't tell her that Sir Laurence would look like an amateur here...
So what to do? He likes to get as many people weighing in on the debate as possible.
His new friend is anxious for him to go to the ER. I tell him if he goes he has to stay long enough for them to do something for his problem. No checking himself out when the memories come flooding back--of the less than five star service; of the regular disturbances [imagine! In a hospital!] for blood pressure checks; of the inedible food; of the nerve of the roommate who keeps the TV on at maximum decibels....all day[!!]; of the doctors/nurses/cleaning ladies' lack of interest in the Threadbare Tales. Fascinating as they may be....they have work to do. He starts to waver. Maybe he should wait and see.?
And so it goes.
Back and forth throughout the day.. Finally, he decides he should go. Miraculously, there is no waiting. They take him right in. And the man whose heart was racing, who could hardly catch his breath earlier, regales the nurses, who are only looking for short answers, with the epic version of everything; the version that starts way back in World War Two.
Two days later, dripped full of vitality inducing fluids, armed with a new prescription, he's back on the street, but "very veak."
So Nellie the elephant packed her trunk and off she went to the circus.....And Miss Oriss, dutiful daughter, who had just unpacked her trunk up north, packed it again, put away her trowel, kissed her garden goodbye, winged her way back to Florida and danced attendance for another month.
Meanwhile, I left for Ireland. The Fourth of July approached. The Bean winged it north to play golf with the OC. Miss Oriss, having satisfied herself that the Prince was well enough to be left alone for a week, accompanied him to the airport, and also winged her way north.
Three days later, with all of us out of his way, the Prince of Carpathia died.
At home.
No poking or prodding.
No loud TV.
No inedible hospital food
No one to comfort him either,or hold his hand as he exited this world.
We were always at loggerheads, but I never would have wished for him to be alone at the end.
May he rest in peace.
Postscript: The devil in me wishes I could have been a little spider, sitting in my web, in a corner of the Pearly Gates when he arrived. Imagine St. Peter hesitating to let him in.....? The outrage.....
"Young man, do you know who I am?"
"Yes sir...."
"Let me speak to your supervisor!"
He's probably got his lawyer handling the whole affair.
I hope the lawyer can cut him a deal.
I know, I know! I promised there'd be no more "Prince" rants here. I didn't mean to, but I lied. So here's your chance....Turn back now before I get started!
Having been here, dancing attendance for more than a month, Miss Oriss returned north in mid-May, to take care of some business, say hello to her life and her garden, celebrate her daughter's birthday, and, last but not least, to maintain her sanity. The Prince seemed like he'd manage fine without her for a while. Not only did he rebuff all her efforts to manage his medications for him --- "My body may be veak, but my brain is still sharp!" Right. He is certainly entitled to his opinion. It also seemed that she was putting a crimp in his social life. Overheard snippets of telephone conversations ---
"We can meet for dinner after my daughter goes home...." or
"I'll call you when my daughter goes back to The North." And to her----
"So, when are you going home?" Wanting to know the date and the hour. So she did what any angry, frustrated person, who does not like Florida much anyway, would do. She went home.
Fast forward a week.
Ring, ring.
"Molly, I'm not doing so good."
He pauses for the gravity of this announcement to sink in. I roll my eyes but don't let it reach my voice.
"What's wrong now?" I ask, trying not to emphasize the "now."
"I think I may have to go to hospital." Dramatic pause while he catches his breath ...."I'm very veak....."
When I get to his house he has summoned a nurse's aide he met at his breakfast joint. She tells me his pulse rate is very high.
She's new to his games. I don't tell her that Sir Laurence would look like an amateur here...
So what to do? He likes to get as many people weighing in on the debate as possible.
His new friend is anxious for him to go to the ER. I tell him if he goes he has to stay long enough for them to do something for his problem. No checking himself out when the memories come flooding back--of the less than five star service; of the regular disturbances [imagine! In a hospital!] for blood pressure checks; of the inedible food; of the nerve of the roommate who keeps the TV on at maximum decibels....all day[!!]; of the doctors/nurses/cleaning ladies' lack of interest in the Threadbare Tales. Fascinating as they may be....they have work to do. He starts to waver. Maybe he should wait and see.?
And so it goes.
Back and forth throughout the day.. Finally, he decides he should go. Miraculously, there is no waiting. They take him right in. And the man whose heart was racing, who could hardly catch his breath earlier, regales the nurses, who are only looking for short answers, with the epic version of everything; the version that starts way back in World War Two.
Two days later, dripped full of vitality inducing fluids, armed with a new prescription, he's back on the street, but "very veak."
So Nellie the elephant packed her trunk and off she went to the circus.....And Miss Oriss, dutiful daughter, who had just unpacked her trunk up north, packed it again, put away her trowel, kissed her garden goodbye, winged her way back to Florida and danced attendance for another month.
Meanwhile, I left for Ireland. The Fourth of July approached. The Bean winged it north to play golf with the OC. Miss Oriss, having satisfied herself that the Prince was well enough to be left alone for a week, accompanied him to the airport, and also winged her way north.
Three days later, with all of us out of his way, the Prince of Carpathia died.
At home.
No poking or prodding.
No loud TV.
No inedible hospital food
No one to comfort him either,or hold his hand as he exited this world.
We were always at loggerheads, but I never would have wished for him to be alone at the end.
May he rest in peace.
Postscript: The devil in me wishes I could have been a little spider, sitting in my web, in a corner of the Pearly Gates when he arrived. Imagine St. Peter hesitating to let him in.....? The outrage.....
"Young man, do you know who I am?"
"Yes sir...."
"Let me speak to your supervisor!"
He's probably got his lawyer handling the whole affair.
I hope the lawyer can cut him a deal.
10 comments:
I won't say , "May he rest in peace " because it probably wouldn't suit him at all . Some people are too energetic to grow old gracefully .
But now at last he's free and you'll all be able to remember him as he was in his prime .... a remarkable man . He'll like that .
All those parts of your lives: it is sad when someone, who is hard to love unreservedly, dies. I admire all the things you did for him, and your essential generosity of spirit. Perhaps he died as he lived?
I hope your time in Ireland was wonderful.
Oh My. Well, I've been wondering where you've been -- just assumed Ireland was so fun it wore you out. Definitely a surprising ending. You were a good, dutiful DIL with much more patience than I would have had. The Prince has always sounded like such a complicated man -- it's probably just the way he wanted it.
well ...... i am sorry for your loss...
we all die alone, Molly, surrounded by people who love us even when we don't deserve it, or with no one else present ... it's an alone kind of experience...
Molly I am sure he had a soft spot for you in his heart.
And I bet he planned to be alone ... I mean imagine the tales he is telling them all now.
hugs from downunder
I'm sorry for all our loss, that there will be no more adventures of The Prince. He played his part to the very end.
Was it Spike Milligan who wanted the words 'I TOLD you I was ill!'on his tomb-stone?
Ahhh Molly - we should all live so that we make an impact on others. He certainly did. Most of us would prefer a different impact but hey...we each choose our path. May he rest in peace. blessings, marlene
Oh love, I was wondering.... You and Miss Orriss did a great job but I am hoping you both will remember the good times. Welcome back to Blogland, I have missed you.
I am not sure if sorry is the appropriate sentiment here, but I do want to say that you sound like you were a good daughter-in-law to him under much adversity and of that you should be proud. Also, maybe it was easier for him to let go when he was on his own.
I am so sorry - I will miss your rants about him. He reminded me so much of my mother. Poor St Peter.
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