I loved my Grandma Dolly. Anyone who talked with me for ten minutes would find that out. It has been my honor and duty to care for her needs for much of the time I've been back in Glenview. Almost from the moment my health improved enough to be of service to others, I was called upon to begin caring for the needs of my dear grandma whose body had begun to betray her in the little ways it does to all of us who age or don't own a Dorian Grey painting.
When it came time for her to move into a facility where she could lead an independent, socially active life, she planned on moving to Sedgebrook, a retirement community in Lincolnshire. The week before she planned to move, she suffered a stroke that was severe enough to require her to spend time at Renaissance Gardens, the part of Sedgebrook devoted to residents recuperating from ailments, surgeries, and the like. There began my daily lunch/dinners with Grandma, where I helped her as much as she'd let me with feeding her and doing her exercises. When she was strong enough to eat by herself, she began eating in the main dining room with the other recovering residents, developing bonds from common experiences during the War and their similar interests in music and the like.
Most memorable to me were residents Don Hause and Jim Thomas, whom we ate with practically every meal. Jim had had a hip replacement and his physical therapy was much the same as Grandma's so they often had therapy together. Don had lost a leg to enemy fire in Korea yet still managed to be a park ranger in one of the most rugged territories in the US Park System, Glacier National Park. He also served his country in WWII, on the same Navy ship as my Grandpa, the USS New York. My grandfather, Dick McFarland, served in the Atlantic Campaign before being transferred to Norfolk, VA to be a Radar Operator Trainer. But Don served during the ill-fated Pacific campaign, and would tell vivid stories of watching ships as tall as buildings split in half.
Grandma also told stories of when she and Grandpa lived in Norfolk in what amounted to a trailer home, with paper thin walls that the wind would gust through on cold nights. These were all stories I had never heard before, so for me every lunch became like a personal history lesson about Don's war, Jim's march through Europe on D-Day, and doing without at home during the war.
But more personal to me were the stories of Grandma growing up. She told me about the toys they played with, with odd names I had never heard of before; what High School was like; and how she met Grandpa Dick, whom she later married and had a son, my father, Richard Benn McFarland, Jr.
I knew a lot more about her later years because she and I had gone from being the kind of "Friendly Relatives" we all have (people we see on holidays but don't have deep relationships with) to becoming friends who had brunch together every Sunday at the 94th Aerosquadron up by Palwaukee Airport. We would gorge ourselves on crab legs, shrimp, and always Eggs Benedict. She was very social, knowing the waiters and waitresses by name and getting preferential treatment whenever she was there. She would make friends with people at other tables, and we would occasionally have several people join our table over the course of these marvelous brunches. It was when Bruce, who I believe was the true love of her life, was still alive and their friends from the "Club" would go out as a group every Thursday evening.
This was a few years before I became ill and moved to Tucson, where I became more ill. I had moved to Tucson to recover from my illness, but instead I began to be plagued with the most unusual and difficult to diagnose ailments. That was when Grandma became more than a relative, more than a friend, but my true hero. The state of Arizona believed the solution to my problem was to amputate both my legs above my knee, and see if that helped. The decision by the state was made based on the fact that a double amputation would cost the state $8000 and then I would become the responsibility of the federal government to support, whereas diagnosis and treatment might cost the state thousands more. I thus discovered the reason I saw so many people in wheelchairs in Tucson. Two doctors, unhappy with my treatment, decided to try to help me "under the table," but in order to do so it would cost money, and by that point I had none. I asked my father for assistance, the logical choice since as a financial planner for the wealthy he himself was wealthy. He suggested I join the Army, and let them treat me. This, by the way, was during the early phases of the Iraq war. When I told Grandma about my condition and situation, she never hesitated to pay my expenses for treatment, food, and whatever else I needed to survive. I had so hoped to be able to come home and get well enough to work and pay her back for all she did for me, and today especially I feel as if I have somehow let her down. But my mom, my sister Kim and my Grandmother Kitzelman reminded me that providence brought me home to Grandma Dolly when she needed me - just as providence made it possible for her to care for me during the time I was suffering. Now she is free from her troubles and worries. I know people believe various things about what happens when someone dies, but I believe she is being welcomed into a new, more fulfilling and amazing life than anyone here could possibly know, and that one day I will be there with her, too. I also know I did all I could for her when she was here in this world, and learned a great deal of real truth from her, her stories and experiences, and her friends. Thank you, Grandma.
