Hearing Aid Comparisons

Alzheimer Memory, War, love and mercy

Looking through my library I noticed a book titled, The things they carried. This is a book about GIs who served in Vietnam and in which the author captures the spirit of the nation artifacts worn by soldiers in battle.

To set the memories that we value most, or take our favorites. In my case, I appreciate a 100 watt light bulb burned out, more than anything else I can think of. Let me explain at a time.

In the mid-sixties, as both Mary Patricia and I were pursuing our careers separately, we had to juggle our time to celebrate our marriage together and spend quality time with our oldest. As a budding concert pianist, Maria Patricia schedule was full auditions, recitals, and long practice hours. To pay the bills took a break from school and got a job. We need help desperately.

One day, I thought that my mother-in-law, a widow for many years, who lived all alone in a big house in Boston, maybe you should move to live with us, here in Manhattan.

"With Jim now in the Marines," said Mary Patricia, "she must be alone."

"Mom Jim misses much." With a melancholy voice of Patricia Mary continued, "I have to admit that favored my brother. Sometimes I felt like if a crystal glass that would be through me. But not Jim-oh, no. His eyes always remain in it. "

"You're imagining things, "he said to his pacifier." Mothers love their children equally. "

Maria Patricia agreed to talk with his mom. And to our relief, Portia welcomed the idea and soon went to live with us. For fourteen years, and sweetened precious Portia enriched our lives because of my long years of existence, apart from my wife I have not met anyone so noble and good heart, like my mother-in-law.

Equipped with an eye for colors and patterns, as mild, She suggested that I can change the relationships that a particular jacket or shoes was more appropriate. Not for a single day or a moment I had to worry about loose buttons, cuffs frayed, or soiled or stained clothing. Portia inspected and maintained my personal attire, just as she had with her husband (a distinguished Boston lawyer and famous).

While the war in Vietnam was raging and seemed remote to many in our home was a daily threat. Jim – Maria Patricia's brother, the son of Portia – was in the heat of war. An occasional letter from Jim Portia relieve anxiety. But the specter of destruction fills their days.

Having lost my student deferment, did not choice but to accept a commission as second lieutenant in the U.S. Army. After advanced training at Fort Benning, Ga., and Fort Lawton, Oklahoma soon received my orders and sent to Vietnam.

As I returned from the war, Jim never did.

However, Portia never begrudged her loss. She accepted the fate of Jim and his memory became a constant source of pride, because Jim had fallen with the gallantry of a true American hero in the battle for Khe Sanh. And many were the appointments and the posthumous medals awarded Marines.

With a nervous wreck and suffer from hallucinations and nightmares, for a couple of years, Mary Patricia and Portia nursed me back to life. Like an angel of mercy Portia ministered to my soul and broken body. My return to civilian life was not easy, and if it were not for Portia, God knows what dark impulses would have done with my weak reason.

When I arrived well and began to work again, Portia, again addressed me with motherly love, respect and gentleness. I thought she waited for daylight hours to go so when I got home from work, could welcome me with a cup of hot tea and biscuits.

Sometimes I felt bad for Mary Patricia, Portia for her attentions were not so expressive. Having grown up during the Great Depression, Portia was thrifty and not given to frivolous spending. Many times, as I Portia seen use your 100 watt bulb cast to repair my socks, I would ask Mary Patricia: "Would not it be cheaper if I can buy new socks? In today's economy does not fix a more socks. "

"She did it for Dad. That is," Mary Patricia answered.

Then one day unfortunate incident occurred that was the harbinger of bad things to come.

Hot tea and cookies on the table my side, I saw the news at 6 PM. In the next moment, Portia enters with another tray with crackers and hot tea. An awkward moment that was, because I was as confused as I was. Portia retreated to the kitchen with the tray, and never gave him another idea, until other small things began to be obvious that something was wrong.

Faced with the unequivocal facts that Portia was not well mentally, we took her to a specialist. The diagnosis was "dementia caused by Alzheimer loss of memory."

Portia became firm and wanted to return to Boston to live at home again. But she is no longer owned the house, because she had sold her when she went to live with us. And since the disease was progressing at a speed of pace, we had no choice but to install in a specialized center for patients with Alzheimer's.

More a weekend would be carried out to visit with her. And our visits seemed to lift her spirits.

But the death with constant progress, and one day we learned that had been taken to hospital. We ran there.

"Jim, Oh, Jim!" Portia shouted at me, his eyes full of motherly love. " You're back! "

Surprised by a second, my initial reaction was to correct her, I'm Jim, I'm Marc, I wanted to say. Yet surprised, I turned to Mary Patricia to get an idea of her, but she was not willing to help and that her eyes filled with tears. So I leaned over and hugged Portia and then kissed her withered face and wrinkles.

"That said Army Major who died … I knew it was a mistake. Oh, Jim, my son!"

Although this scene happened more than thirty years, I can still feel the lump in my throat from my point of air entrainment, descending slowly my stomach, where it hit me with physical pain as when the wind is removed from you. Not having the heart to burst the bubble of happiness Portia simply I said:

"Mom," while kissing her face again.

His eye lids fluttered and seemed to drift into sleep. But the next moment focuses on Mary Patricia and addressed her: "Why are you crying my love Jim never brought a girl home before. He must be serious – that is a good boy. What's your name, son? "

As if exhausted by a demanding task, Portia drifting into sleep, or so it seemed. Moments Later, the resident physician to lead a high delegation of trainees entered the room. After looking at the graph of Portia said, "… we are all billionaires and millionaires, the brain has more than 100 billion neurons, but a few million burn affects not only our senses, but our banks memory. "

Although the doctor keeps his voice low as he went with his lecture outpatient inmates, we could hear some of their parts: "… In advanced cases there is no current cure … God's mercy. "

Suddenly, Portia opened his eyes, and seeing a group of doctors, said: "Doctor, Jim's back! My son is back … I'm so happy and now I can go … Right? "

Confused and dazed by what Portia was saying, I looked at doctor who seemed to be decoding words. Transmission as a child with new shoes, Portia looked at me, "Jim could not remember the lines to save my soul, just came to me just now. Listen! "Clearly, I heard her say:

The quality of mercy is not forced

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

To place under

Later that day, Mary Patricia told me that the doctor called and informed him that Portia had died in sleep.

Numb with grief, all I could think of was that the bulb of 100 watts of light burned.

About the Author

Retired. Former investment banker, Columbia University-educated, Vietnam Vet (67-68).
For the writing techniques I use, see Mary Duffy’s e-book: Sentence Openers.
To read my book reviews of the Classics visit my blog: Writing To Live

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