Point of View

Ringraziemento Felice

Visiting the less fortunate has always been a wakeup call when I feel my life has taken a turn for the worst. I am far from being what society would label as successful, but I have a nice home and a fairly good job, so I am above most. To me, my success lies not in my belongings or the balance of my checking account, as meager as it is, but in the close relationships I have acquired and maintained over the years, as few as they are.
As with years past, I have always given a few hours of my time during the holidays to the veteran’s of the Carl T. Hayden veteran’s center. There reside the forgotten heroes of a bygone era of innocence and pride, of determination and resolve, and of romance and magic. I enjoy bridging the generation gap as young and old meet with one thing in common; we are all veteran’s. I feel richer this year then last, and as with each passing year usually have more to be thankful for, although it’s not always as clear to me at any given time, I try not to take too much for granted.
As usual, I found the group in various stages of alertness; some sleeping in their wheel chairs while others where outside enjoying the companionship of their loved ones. Mr. Brady was outside enjoying his mid-day cigarette. With him was his youngest daughter, a lovely lady with long red hair and sea-green eyes. She was preparing his Thanksgiving meal that she had brought in, on the picnic table while he puffed away under a nearby tree, taking a moment to greet me as I walked up. Mr. Brady suffered a brain mass which was surgically removed but not before having an irreversible effect on his motor skills and speech patterns. He now suffers bouts of memory loss and will drift in and out of conscientious without much warning. Despite that, he always seems to remember my name, although he has no recollection of the parade we attended last week and I am afraid he will not recall his daughters visit this week.
I excused myself from the Brady’s thanksgiving meal and headed off to visit my newest friend Peter Italiano. I stopped in the recreation room where I usually find him glued to the television watching an old western or black and white James Cagney movie, but today the room was silent. I headed to his room where I called out, “Italiano,” and again was met with silence. I found his bed empty and felt the chills run down my back as I quickly made my way to the nurses station. They informed me that he had been rushed to the hospital side of the complex earlier in the morning after a restless night of coughing and shortness of breath. I got his room information and made my way over to look in on him. There he was, sitting upright in bed watching television. I sighed in relief to see him awake and seemingly in good spirits. He held out his hand as I approached and I gave it a reassuring squeeze, his weary eyes half-smiling along with his toothless grin. Peter told me he had pneumonia and would be in the hospital for a few more days. We talked about the parade on TV and where our families came from in Italy. Peter’s father comes from Sicily and his mother from Tuscany and I shared that my grandfather was born and raised in Fiuggi, just outside of Naples. Peter told me that he was just three years old when my grandfather left for America in 1920. I gave Pete a warm smile while thinking I could only hope to be half as spirited as at his age; if I make it to 91. Pete’s heavy eyes were my queue to let him rest, and with a wink of his eye he said, “Ringraziamento felice mi’amico,” and I made my way back to the assisted living wing of the complex.
It was nearing meal-time for the residents and Doris was still sleeping. I was told that she too wasn’t feeling well and it looked like I would be spared the nurses teasing comments this time and would catch up with Doris during my next visit.

For many of them, Thanksgiving was just another day of being; unaware of conscience time, for time stands still within the halls of this place, like a Twilight Zone of memories from which there is only one escape. The circle of life is complete.