by Colin Edmund Grant
January 13, 2006
Copyright © 2006 Colin Edmund Grant

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Life is never simple, and in the spring of 1998, it seemed particularly complex. Daughter Janet had been battling health problems for years, and was settled in the outskirts of Orlando, Florida, whose climate seemed to agree with her. Daughter Carolyn, who had always had a close relationship with Janet, lived across the street from Janet and was happy to help out. But Carolyn was having health problems of her own (Lupus, among other things) and Janet, ever more uncomfortable, was becoming more than Carolyn could handle.

Back in East Hartford, Marion and Paul had been somewhat discombobulated by his health scares in 1996 and 1997, and even considered moving into an elderly community so that Marion would be well cared for if Paul should kick. But the news from Florida gave Paul a bright idea: they would move to Florida, where they could help care for Janet and Carolyn, and where Carolyn and Janet also might be able to help care for them should the need arise.

For those of us who were not moving to Florida, this was a great shock, because Marion clearly did not want to move, and Paul, as he had expressed for years, hated everything about Florida. Yet suddenly, Marion and Paul, both 73, put on happy faces, found a town that actually had a library "and some people with brains," and started looking for a home in the pretty central Florida town of Mount Dora.

It was a great choice. Mount Dora had an active senior community with excellent support and services, as well as enterprises and entertainments that catered to the older crowd, but was also a young community with kids and schools, which provided some sanity and balance. It was far enough from both the east and west coasts that the frequent hurricanes were quite tame by the time they hit the town, and they were even at some elevation above prospective storm floods ("Mount" Dora rises to 300' above sea level, a veritable Grand Teton by Florida standards).

They sold the house in East Hartford, bought a perfect little house on a cul de sac in Mount Dora, and moved south.

Paul never spoke ill of Florida again, and the plan worked out beautifully. They helped Janet find a little house about a mile away from Marion and Paul, and the pressure was greatly relieved from Carolyn. Before long, Marion and Paul were as exactly as established in the Mount Dora community as they wanted to be, which was not very. No longer were they required to work long hours at the Historical Society or at the polls or at the League of Women Voters events. They could be precisely as friendly with their neighbors as they wanted, and could attend whatever entertainments they saw fit, without any social demands or lectures when they opted not to. It was easy to get around town, as even with Marion's and Paul's deteriorating driving skills, they were regular Mario Andrettis compared to many other drivers.

The found good doctors and pharmacies and grocery stores and landscapers and plumbers and a trustworthy mechanic and the Dairy Queen and the Perkin's Restaurant and everything else they needed. There were various health issues with Janet, and with Paul, and with Carolyn, from time to time, but Mount Dora worked quite well.

Yet by 2001, it was evident that Paul was fading. He was having frequent episodes where his platelet count would suddenly plummet to zero, and he'd have to be transfused to keep him going. This was eventually blamed on ITP (Immune Thrombocytopenic Purpura), a condition that was not normally that dangerous, but which could be deadly when combined with other ailments.

In early 2002, there were incidents where Paul literally collapsed on the floor and had to be rushed to the hospital. It was found that he had varicose veins and arteries in some important places, and was bleeding into his stomach at intervals. This was serious stuff, but there was not much that could be done.

He also began having tremendous headaches, which were blamed on everything from invisible brain tumors to sinus infections, but which the doctors ultimately could only treat with strong narcotics.

Finally, in June of 2002, Dr. Lynch, their family doctor, summoned Paul and Marion. The sum of Paul's ailments, he explained, was getting the best of him, and it was time for him to put his affairs in order. He might have a month left, or he might have two years, but he was not long for this world.

Marion was somewhat in shock, and Paul bore the news with good humor and healthy denial. Nonetheless, they summoned Carolyn (who lived nearby) and Colin (who had volunteered to help however he could) to go through the all the financial records so that they would be able to help Marion when and if she needed the help.

As word raced through the family grapevine that Paul was dying, the kids began to announce and/or accelerate plans to visit. As it worked out, a large contingent of the offspring and grandchildren made it for a visit on one particular weekend in late July. In an email message before the mass visit, Dad assured us, "I promise to die immediately after you all leave, so that the whole thing will be worthwhile. In fact I may disappear to an undisclosed location while you are here. It may seem to you that I am in a state of absolute denial in order to make these jokes, and you are right."

He did not hide, and there was a very pleasant weekend of visiting. The highlight of the weekend was a lovely meal at a nearby Italian restaurant that was exuberant and touching, which became known as "The Last Supper" in the Grant family lexicon. The next day, we said our goodbyes; I hugged and kissed my Dad for the first and last time of my life, and we went on our way.

True to his word, Paul deteriorated quickly and died on September 22. Various kids had been visiting to support Marion during the last few weeks, and Andrew, the baby, was there with Marion and Carolyn and Janet when Paul died, and Nancy, the firstborn, arrived soon thereafter. After a memorial service and burial back in Boston, Marion returned to an empty home for the first time in her life.

Marion was sad, exhausted and knocked for a loop by the experience. Most days, Carolyn checked on her and usually found that something was not quite right. Marion would claim to have picked up the mail that very day, and Carolyn would find a week's mail crammed into the mailbox. The trash and recycling never seemed to get put out on the right day, if at all. The bills were not getting paid, and the checkbook was not getting balanced. Marion seemed to be sleeping 18 hours a day. Over the next few months, Carolyn assumed the duty of paying the bills and watching the money, but we all worried that perhaps it was time to get Marion help of some sort, maybe into an assisted living community.

Annie Beaton died "suddenly" (no one who is about to turn 104 really dies unexpectedly) on January 15, 2003, and Marion managed to make it to Boston for the services, but she was obviously still exhausted. We continued to be concerned about her, and to wonder what to do next.

But over time, Marion came back. Her sense of humor reappeared, she slept less, she started watching the money closely (a good sign), and she started to make plans to visit various people at various places. When she came north for a 16 day visit to multiple locations almost a year after Paul's death -- "Marion Tour 2003" -- she was in good shape and in good spirits. We all breathed a sigh of relief, and life settled into some semblance of normalcy.

2003 morphed into 2004, a good year. Carolyn was a regular visitor, and Marion's neighbors kept a friendly eye on things. Marion spoke on the phone to her brothers and sisters and children daily, keeping mentally agile and upbeat. Although the Pratt & Whitney pension payment had been reduced when Paul died, Marion was still on solid financial ground.

Soon after Paul and Annie had died, Hugh (Marion's younger brother) had lost his wife, Elaine, to cancer. In the autumn of 2004, Hugh invited Marion to come live with him in Delaware. Marion liked the idea of sharing a home with Hugh, but did not like the idea of moving to Delaware. If she were going to go back up to the cold north, she figured she might as well return to Boston, but she was not about to do that either. So she invited Hugh to move in with her, and he accepted. After selling the house and distributing most of his stuff to his kids, he arrived in early January, 2005.

At first, everything was fine, but there was some period of necessary adjustment. Hugh and Marion, each having been living with someone else's quirks and foibles for the past 50 or so years, both had an entirely new set of aggravating habits to get used to. They had to adjust to new eating habits, schedules, and moods, not easy for a 79 year old woman and a 78 year old man. There was some doubt as to the long-term viability of the plan, although, as Hugh pointed out, "I sold everything. I have nowhere to go!" But the compatibility issue was soon shoved to one side by more important matters.

On Sunday, March 6th, 2005, Carolyn's husband Jon called to report that Carolyn, just 51, was in the hospital, having suffered a stroke. It appeared that she would recover, but there would be a long period of convalescence and physical therapy. After about three weeks, Jon convinced Marion that she should take on the job of caring for Carolyn, and on April 1, Jon delivered Carolyn to Marion's home and fled.

Carolyn was completely miserable, in pain, angry, utterly inconsolable and mostly irrational. There were nine prescriptions that needed to be filled (Jon had forgotten to take care of these) and forced upon Carolyn each day. Carolyn would wake up at irregular intervals, day and night, crying out in pain. I won't go any further into the depressing details, but it was just awful.

After three days of this, Marion looked like she was ready to have a stroke, and Hugh had to be thinking about shopping for real estate. At this time, daughter Dorothy visited to see what she could do to help out. Dorothy is a Ph.D. psychologist who for 20 years ran a hospital department that dealt with people who had physical and mental brain problems including stroke, and it took her about ten minutes to see that this arrangement was completely untenable. She made a number of telephone calls, and a day later, Carolyn was in a long-term convalescence and therapy facility, and Marion's color changed back from a troubling gray to her normal rosy flesh-tone color.

But, medically, things deteriorated for Carolyn. She had another stroke, and further testing revealed that she had a brain tumor, malignant, inoperable, and aggressive. There was nothing to be done other than to keep her comfortable, and she died peacefully at about 10:30 PM on May 23rd. Daughter Nancy was the last one to visit with Carolyn.

After cremation, a memorial service in Mount Dora, and another memorial service in Boston, Carolyn was buried in the family plot next to Paul.

Marion, possibly getting used to it by now, bounced back quickly after Carolyn's death, but the loss was huge. Not only had Carolyn been the most regular visitor to Marion's home for the last seven years, she had been a great help to Marion since Paul's death, and now others would have to take up the slack, which they did. But most of all, Carolyn's death was flabbergasting. It was a gargantuan shock to the family to have the first of our generation die, and that it was Carolyn -- all-state athlete, all-state musician, pretty, thin, brilliant, self-reliant Carolyn -- made the whole thing surreal.

After the memorial service, Marion visited family in Boston, Maine, and Connecticut, flew back to Orlando, and finally arrived back at home in Mount Dora. Carolyn died seven months ago as I write, and while Marion and Hugh and the family have adjusted and moved on, the wound is still raw. Just as Marion will sometimes address Hugh as "Paul", she will sometimes say, "Let's call Carolyn" for one thing or another, pause, and add sadly, "Oh, never mind."

On her 80th birthday, I asked Ma if there was anything else she wished to accomplish in her life, and she quickly responded, "Survive!" That is a full time job right now, as she and Hugh spend a lot of time going from doctor to doctor to get one or another thing fixed. But it's not a bad job, and as Ma has reminded me countless times, it beats the alternative.

Click Part 10 below for the conclusion.

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