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An Old Man Dies in Clairemont
I.
Friday at the YMCA some guy left an adult diaper on the bench in the locker room. It was new – dry and clean, anyway – but disturbing nonetheless. It was almost 2:00 p.m., so most us there at the time were older than 60. The young hotshots were already back to work. Everybody saw it; no one said a word.
Ten years ago I would have been all over the situation. ‘Hey, Buddy. You drop something’? ‘Dude, that yours’?
II.
Uncle Bill picked three big shopping bags full of avocados on the day before he died. ‘Make sure Stroke Lady gets a bag’, he told Mem.
Stroke Lady is my wife, Nong.
The avocados weren’t ready. Still hard. That wasn’t like Uncle Bill.
When Nong had her stroke last year, they came by a couple of times a week and sat with us in our kitchen, once Nong was able to sit up. It took a couple of months of sleeping and vertigo and throwing up into the pink plastic bucket the hospital gave us before she could get up out of bed. They were very welcome. She would totter into the kitchen on her cane, and she would yak yak with Mem in their Northern Thai language. Uncle Bill and I just bullshat.
He had had a couple of strokes already, plus a heart attack or two. He was a good guy. Soft-spoken, laid-back and happy; he was one of those done-it-all dudes who didn’t brag about it. I never heard him say a bitter word. He had a white beard and long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. It wasn’t a look I would have chosen but he made it work.
He loved our garden. I took out most of the lawn in back and put in tomatoes, chiles, beans and herbs; peaches, limes, lemons and pomegranates. There are lots of wildflowers scattered about for the birds and roses for my wife. He had lots of fruit trees on his properties and grew the sweetest white grapes I’ve ever tasted.
He loved the salsa Nong makes with his avocados. She dices the creamy yellow flesh and mixes it with tomatoes and chiles and cilantro and lime juice from out back. It’s not Thai and certainly not Mexican, but it is wonderful fresh healthy food.
Uncle Bill didn’t drink, but his nose was scarred and misshapen, so it looked like he might have been a heavy drinker at some point in his life.
They were very good friends, Uncle Bill and Mem. He owned several houses and she lives in one of them with four dogs and a cat. He lived in another with his favorite dog – the one with cancer – in the house his Mom left him. Did I say he was 72? Mem is just on the far side of 40. She drives one of his many cars.
He had two grown kids who didn’t come see him. She is in the middle of an angry divorce.
She talked to him on Tuesday evening. His heart was bothering him. He felt weak.
Uncle Bill didn’t worry about health insurance. That’s how much money he had. His next doctor’s appointment was six weeks out; they were going to stop his heart and start it again.
‘I’ll probably die before I see the doctor’, he told Mem.
She saw him Wednesday afternoon before work, picking avocados, and called him afterwards. He didn’t answer, and she figured he was asleep already. When he didn’t answer the phone on Thursday she worried a little.
Friday morning she went to see him and he didn’t answer the door. His dog was inside whining and his car was in the driveway. She got a neighbor and they called the police.
They found him on the floor in his bathroom. He had an index finger in his mouth. It looked as though he was trying to get a heart pill down his throat. They estimated he had been there for 30 hours.
We got the avocados. They should be ready to eat in a day or two.
An Old Man Dies in Clairemont
I.
Friday at the YMCA some guy left an adult diaper on the bench in the locker room. It was new – dry and clean, anyway – but disturbing nonetheless. It was almost 2:00 p.m., so most us there at the time were older than 60. The young hotshots were already back to work. Everybody saw it; no one said a word.
Ten years ago I would have been all over the situation. ‘Hey, Buddy. You drop something’? ‘Dude, that yours’?
II.
Uncle Bill picked three big shopping bags full of avocados on the day before he died. ‘Make sure Stroke Lady gets a bag’, he told Mem.
Stroke Lady is my wife, Nong.
The avocados weren’t ready. Still hard. That wasn’t like Uncle Bill.
When Nong had her stroke last year, they came by a couple of times a week and sat with us in our kitchen, once Nong was able to sit up. It took a couple of months of sleeping and vertigo and throwing up into the pink plastic bucket the hospital gave us before she could get up out of bed. They were very welcome. She would totter into the kitchen on her cane, and she would yak yak with Mem in their Northern Thai language. Uncle Bill and I just bullshat.
He had had a couple of strokes already, plus a heart attack or two. He was a good guy. Soft-spoken, laid-back and happy; he was one of those done-it-all dudes who didn’t brag about it. I never heard him say a bitter word. He had a white beard and long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. It wasn’t a look I would have chosen but he made it work.
He loved our garden. I took out most of the lawn in back and put in tomatoes, chiles, beans and herbs; peaches, limes, lemons and pomegranates. There are lots of wildflowers scattered about for the birds and roses for my wife. He had lots of fruit trees on his properties and grew the sweetest white grapes I’ve ever tasted.
He loved the salsa Nong makes with his avocados. She dices the creamy yellow flesh and mixes it with tomatoes and chiles and cilantro and lime juice from out back. It’s not Thai and certainly not Mexican, but it is wonderful fresh healthy food.
Uncle Bill didn’t drink, but his nose was scarred and misshapen, so it looked like he might have been a heavy drinker at some point in his life.
They were very good friends, Uncle Bill and Mem. He owned several houses and she lives in one of them with four dogs and a cat. He lived in another with his favorite dog – the one with cancer – in the house his Mom left him. Did I say he was 72? Mem is just on the far side of 40. She drives one of his many cars.
He had two grown kids who didn’t come see him. She is in the middle of an angry divorce.
She talked to him on Tuesday evening. His heart was bothering him. He felt weak.
Uncle Bill didn’t worry about health insurance. That’s how much money he had. His next doctor’s appointment was six weeks out; they were going to stop his heart and start it again.
‘I’ll probably die before I see the doctor’, he told Mem.
She saw him Wednesday afternoon before work, picking avocados, and called him afterwards. He didn’t answer, and she figured he was asleep already. When he didn’t answer the phone on Thursday she worried a little.
Friday morning she went to see him and he didn’t answer the door. His dog was inside whining and his car was in the driveway. She got a neighbor and they called the police.
They found him on the floor in his bathroom. He had an index finger in his mouth. It looked as though he was trying to get a heart pill down his throat. They estimated he had been there for 30 hours.
We got the avocados. They should be ready to eat in a day or two.