Can You Hear Me Now?

My father-in-law called, excited about the free cell phone and service plan he was going to get. He's on Medicaid, lives in a nursing home,and can barely move most of the time due to advanced Parkinson's. It turned out that Medicaid was offering all its enrollees free cell phone service, regardless of their age and medical condition. I reminded Aaron that he had trouble dialing a normal sized phone. I explained that cell phones are small and difficult to use. 

"It's free!" 

There was no point in arguing. "Free" is to Aaron what a red cape is to a charging bull... irresistible and bound to lead to disaster.

So he immediately cancelled his land line, got the cell phone, and discovered it was...yes... small and difficult to use. David, Sami, and I tried to read the manual, but this was the tiniest, cheapest piece of crap I'd ever seen. Even Mikey had trouble with the itty bitty buttons. Aaron's hands shake like mad, when he can use them at all. 

David tried to show him how to use it, but it was no use. He had to wheel himself down to the office to make phone calls, and it was virtually impossible to call him back. 

David's brother and I talked--if I would get him a regular phone and arrange for it to be hooked up, Steven would pay the bill. I got that done this week, and was even able to get him his old phone number. He'll get a discount, too, and unlimited long distance so that he can call his family out in Arizona.  Aaron called the next morning. 

"My new phone works," he said. 

"That's great," I said. 

"I just got a brochure in the mail today," he said. "It says I can get free phone service with a computer. Can you find out about that?" 

I didn't hang up on him, but I came very close.

The Train from Phoenix

My mother, 92, is the oldest of 5. Leo Cutler, the next in line and the oldest son of Israel and Libby Mishkovsky, died last week at the age of 91. I flew with my mom to Leo's funeral in California. She did very well on the trip, and her sisters and remaining brother and their spouses were surprised at how alert and engaged she was. They last saw her a year ago, at a family reunion, and she was a bit overwhelmed by the crowds and noise, which makes her withdraw.  At the funeral-related functions, there were individuals to talk to, and Mom stayed in the moment and talked to anybody who would start a conversation with her.

On the way home, we changed planes in Phoenix. It was getting late, at least on Eastern time, and Mom was more and more disoriented, but cooperative, as always.  She looked out the bank of airplane windows as the rest of the passengers were boarding, and talked to me about the excitement of riding the train from her home in Indiana to Chicago when she was a girl.

Our plane spent a long time taxiing into position for take-off, and I closed my eyes. I had been "Mom" on this trip, handling the reservations of airplanes, hotel, and car rental for me, mom and my sister, figuring out navigation and meals, and doing all the driving. I was tired.

An anxious voice from the next seat woke me. "What if you sleep through our stop?" asked Mom. "What if we don't get off at the right place?"  I looked out the window. We were still taxiing, and I had to admit, it did look like the view from a train window. "There's only one stop," I said. "And everybody will have to get off, so you don't need to worry about that."

Of course, she did worry about that, and about the metal basket from her walker, which we were carrying. She asked me about 50 times what it was and whether we needed to take it with us when we left. She should have worried about USAirways losing the rest of her walker, which they did. She should have worried about me shaking the baggage agent into unconsciousness, which I wanted to.

"I didn't forget like this when I was younger," said Mom, about two hours into our flight. "I guess I'm getting old." She smiled, and I smiled back. "You're doing really well, actually," I said. I'm not sure she heard me.

"I'm 92," she continued. "I guess I am old."

She was still smiling, and so was I.