Just Call Me Grandma

My grandmother was a lucky woman. She passed away only a few short months after being placed in a nursing home in New Jersey. She had been living in San Antonio with my parents for a while, but the doctors were saying it was time for my grandfather, who was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's, to be placed somewhere that he could receive more care than my parents could provide. Since Grandmom and Grandpop were residents of New Jersey, they pretty much had to go back for affordable care. My aunt and uncle could not take them in. Their own health had been deteriorating, which was the reason for my grandparents coming to Texas in the first place.

I guess I should explain why my grandmother should be considered lucky for dying in the nursing home. Of course, she wasn't as lucky as my mother who died sitting in her easy chair at suppertime without ever being in a nursing home, something she dreaded. Grandmom hadn't wanted to got there either. I say she is lucky because she didn't live out several anxious years waiting in despair for visitors. Not everyone is that lucky.

When Grandmom died in 1994, I flew up there for her funeral. My sister drove up from Virginia. Mom and Dad were already there. I should mention that Grandmom paid for my flight. She had left some money in an account in Texas for that very purpose. Anyway, while we were there, Patti and I decided to visit Grandpop in the nursing home. Mom and my aunt Shirley both tried to talk us out of it. They told us that we would not like what we would see. Mom had been there the day before, and Grandpop had passed her in his wheel chair without even noticing her standing there. She said he was dragging himself around with one foot and moaning incoherently as he went up and down the halls. She wouldn't go with us because it had broken her heart to see him that way.

Evidently, God had other plans for our visit. We found Grandpop sitting in his room. He looked more ancient than I had ever seen him, but he was totally with us. I won't say he knew who we were, but he recognized that we were someone he knew. We had a long conversation about how things were going for him. He told us that he had gone to see "the old lady", but she wasn't there anymore. He wasn't sure where she went, but passed by her room a lot just in case she came back. He also told us that he was very lonely. He thought it would help if he could get a little dog, and even acknowledged that the nursing home probably wouldn't allow that. All in all, it was a very pleasant visit. Unfortunately, when Mom rushed to see him after hearing about our experience, the moment had passed, and Grandpop was once again dragging himself through the hall babbling to himself. She was utterly devastated.

On our way out of the nursing home, Patti and I were greeted by about ten very old ladies in wheel chairs. They were sitting in the lobby staring out the windows hoping to see someone coming up the walk to visit them. One of the ladies told me I was very handsome and reminded her of her dead husband. She said our "loved one" was so very fortunate that we had come to visit, and that she wished someone would come to see her. She told us it wasn't her family's fault nobody could come, as they were very busy people. She seemed to think she wasn't important enough to visit. It was very sad.

Another lady said, "Young man, would you mind putting my slipper back on for me. I can't do it myself, and nobody else will do it for me." I looked at her foot and wanted to cry. It was all cracked and bloody. She noticed me looking at it and said it looked worse than it really was. I picked up her slipper and put it on for her. I wish I were a nicer person, but it really grossed me out. I tried my hardest not to show it. She was so thankful.

As we left, the ladies asked us when we would be back to visit again. They were so happy to get to talk to anyone, it didn't matter that we were strangers to them. I am so glad that neither Grandmom or my mom had to go through that. I feel guilty that I didn't see Mom more than I did. Even though we talked on the phone all the time, and I went to visit every Sunday, she would have loved more spontaneous visits during the week. I know she understood the challenges of working and raising two children on my time. She never once complained. Still, I feel guilty for not seeing more of her while I had the chance.

Okay, so let's get back to me. I'm sure you noticed my title and are thinking to yourself, "What the heck! What a downer." I apologize for all that. I just needed to set everything up so you would understand how awful my situation is.

You see, I have a son in college now. Rachel and I are so proud of him. We raised him to be strong and independent. We taught him right from wrong and feel confident that he chooses right more often than not. We raised him in the church, and although he seems to be floundering a bit in that respect, have total confidence that he will not lose his faith. So why am I unhappy? It's because he is too independent for my tastes.

Josh came home for a visit a few weeks ago. His mother and I spent the entire weekend sitting around the house like those old ladies hoping he would find time for us. The first night, he didn't even arrive at our house until after 1:00 AM. Then the next day, Saturday, he slept late. I suddenly heard the front door open and close. Josh was getting picked up by his buddies. I ran to the door and asked him if we would see him at the football game. He said, "I think so." At the game, I sat there for what seemed hours watching for him to arrive. I couldn't focus on the game or the band. All I cared about was seeing Josh walk up the stairs to join us in the stadium. Finally, he did FOR ABOUT FIVE MINUTES.

Don't get me wrong. We knew in advance that Josh was coming to see his buddies. One of them was on furlough from the Marines and only in town for a few days. Josh hadn't seen him since graduation. He joined Josh for those five fantastic moments at the football field. After the game, they all went to Hooters. I told Josh we would pay for it, and he could call it his birthday party. I was in bed by the time he finally got home. He came into the bedroom and woke me long enough to let me know he was home. (That was my mother's rule when I was growing up. I carried it over to the next generation. What Josh doesn't know, is that he never wakes me up. I can't sleep until he is safe at home. I remember asking my Mom why she worried so much when I was home to visit on a weekend when she had no idea what I was doing when I was away at college. She looked at me and said, "I have to force my self not think about you." Man, do I get that now!)

On Sunday, Josh actually wanted to visit his grandfather. I got to drive him over there and back. Then we talked with Rachel for about an hour before leaving for Austin. Josh told me I was driving him and his roommate, Anthony, back. I guess I am lucky for the time during the trip, but Josh sat in the car doing homework the whole time while I talked with Anthony. We went to dinner at Freebirds, then I dropped then off at the dorm and made the lonely drive home.

I asked Josh yesterday if he is going to come down in two weeks for Marshall's homecoming. He indicated that he probably wasn't. I asked him what days he'll have off for Thanksgiving. He told me he only gets Thursday and Friday. I asked if he wanted me to pick him up on Wednesday after his classes. He said he wasn't sure he was coming down here for Thanksgiving. He said it was too far off to know yet. I wanted to send a reply that read, "You do realize, dear boy, that your tuition is dependent upon your coming home for holidays!" Rachel said to leave him alone. She is convinced he will come. "Everybody goes home for Thanksgiving," she says. I hope she's right.

In the meantime, I spend a lot of time checking to see if Josh is on Facebook and waiting to get an e-mail or phone call from him. Don't get me wrong... those things happen. Every once in awhile, Josh will want something and send a brief message stating his need. Most of his messages in response to mine are one or two words. But, oh how I cherish them!

So, you see, that's why I said to call me Grandma. I'm pretty sure that I will be one of those old ancient sad people who sit in the lobbies of nursing homes watching and waiting for a visitor to arrive. Josh probably won't make a lot of visits to see me. I'll probably see him once a year or so until I get lucky like Grandmom and pass away. Then I'll go hang out with Jesus. I hope he doesn't mind my staring at the tree every once in awhile waiting and hoping to see Josh arrive to hang out with us.

On the flip side, I have this deep-rooted feeling that Jared will live with us forever. How ironic.

Do You Have a Jack?

Last Wednesday, I traded in my ten-year-old van and bought a new car for my wife, Rachel. As a result, I am now the proud owner of her 2001 Malibu. It took a while to get used to driving something so small, but I am now truly loving zipping around in what is to me a sports car. It has pickup. The van didn't. It turns easily. The van didn't. It stops where and when I want it to. The van didn't. I even parallel parked it last week when I took Josh back to UT. It took me twenty minutes to parallel park the van with an audience of laughing UT kids when last I dropped him off at college.

Rachel's Malibu only had two minor issues when she passed it down to me. The right-side passenger door could not be opened from the inside, and the AC turned off and switched settings whenever it wanted to. Both of these bothered me, and I gave thought to having them repaired. Rachel had, in fact, wanted to take the car in to get the door fixed last summer, but we forgot to get it done. That was a good thing. Last Sunday, Joshua's roommate Anthony fixed it by disengaging the child lock! In my defense, I had never even looked at it to see what the problem was. Evidently, Jared, Josh, and all those varsity football players Rachel gave rides home to weren't smart enough to push the switch.

The air conditioning was different. There was obviously something happening with the switches. I couldn't tell what was going on at first. After a few days, however, I noticed some constants in the dysfunction. Then being smarter than the average bear (I would have gotten that door open!), I described the problem in Google and learned that thousands of Chevy Malibu's made between 1997 and the early 2000s had exactly the same problem. The fix was to replace the control head at a cost of about $300 unless you were lucky enough to be under warranty. Unfortunately, a lot of people mentioned that the new control heads started malfunctioning after a few months. That got me to thinking that they must have a design flaw, and there must be a way to fix it. I mean, seriously, the problem has been there for almost ten years. Someone must have come up with something. Right?

Well, I googled "malibu +control head +repair" and found this article: http://www.imcool.com/articles/aircondition/AC_ControllersAreRepairable.pdf It seemed to be exactly what I was looking for, and that is where Jack comes in. I sent the article to my buddy Jack Funkhouser and asked him if it made any sense, if he thought it would work, if he thought he could do it, and if he would be willing to do it. He said yes to all of my questions. But before I go any further, I need to explain why I would ask Jack in the first place.

Jack Funkhouser is a vice principal of an elementary school here in San Antonio. Before that, he held the same job I have now. Before that, he was a teacher at Rachel's last school. Before that, he was in the Air Force. None of his jobs had anything to do with auto repair, as far as I know. Just the same, if you had Jack for a friend, you would have asked him just like me. That's because Jack is the most amazing "know-it-all" in town. We're not talking Cliffy Claven here. Jack is no show off. He just has some strange wiring in his brain that drives him to tinker with anything, learn how it works, and figure out how to fix it.

Jack truly can do anything. When he sold his house a few years ago, he asked me and our other buddy, Mike, to come help him with a repair to a wall. I thought we were going to nail a board on and paint it. No. We completely removed the wall from one side of his house and rebuilt it that day. Jack brews his own beer. In fact, the single best beer I have ever had to date, was brewed in Jack's garage about eight years ago. I was there. I did what ever Jack said to do, but even after brewing beer with him and Mike about five times, I haven't a clue how to do it. One day when I went to Jack's, he had the drive shaft out of his Suburban laying in pieces on his garage floor working on it. He even has a little thing that lifts the engine out of the car so he can work on it. He installed his own water softening system. He builds computers from scratch. He built a smoker out of an old refrigerator and smokes his own sausage and jerky. He lays tile and installs wood flooring. I'm not kidding you. There is nothing he can't do. Whenever I pay a repairman to do anything, Jack says, "You should have called me. I could have fixed it for free." He even volunteered to put my dad's garage door opener in for him. The only reason he didn't was that he was too busy and I went ahead and paid Sears to do it.

So, yes, I asked Jack about my hand-me-down car's AC problem. He told me to go out to his house today, and he would work on it. We figured that, if it didn't work, I was no worse off than before he tried. Anyway, the article says, "A newbie technician can easily take two or three
hours to complete this job, given the fear of the unknown and of breaking things. Using an
experienced tech, for vehicles with this problem,we now turn them around in less than an
hour." Jack must be an "experienced tech". He tore the part out, cleaned it, and re-installed it in about 20 minutes. And that includes going back in the garage twice to get tools, etc.

We won't know how fixed it is for a while, but I drove all the way back from Jack's house without a problem. On the way out to his house from my dad's, about a thirty-minute trip, it shut off and switched from the recirculation setting to outside air about 10 times. All indications are that the problem is solved. If it isn't, I will buy a new control head, and Jack will put it in for me. I am lucky to have such a talented friend who is always willing to do whatever he can to help people, not just his friends, out.

Now, let me ask you again. Do you have a Jack? If you don't, you really need to get one.