The Letter

I took the time to put together the following letter which I sent to the managing director of the retirement community where my parents lived.  Like most people (Ed. Note: I use the phrase 'like most people' right before I admit to some crappy, selfish behavior.  It's a fancy way of saying 'we all do it,' a phrase indicating a lack of humility of great intensity) I am quick to pull the trigger when I'm aggravated and slow to praise when I'm pleased.  I felt as much grief writing to these good people as at any time during the last week.

I am writing to express - in conjunction with my sister - our profound and sincere thanks for the care our parents, Mr. and Mrs. Seafood Senior, received while they were members of your community.  It was easy to see that the affection everyone had for my them was sincere and heartfelt.  It was easy to see that the staff was not just doing a job - they were providing a service that they felt was important.  And this goes for those who were based in the independent living wing, the rehab unit, and the skilled nursing facility.

I hesitate to mention anyone by name because I honestly can not remember a single instance when my parents, my sister, and I were treated in a manner that was anything but exemplary.  And since I live out of state I didn't get the chance to commit everyone's name to memory.  That being said a few people really stood out during my short visits.

Stephanie and Christine in the skilled wing who patiently stood and listened to every single word that I said and explained what was going on with my father's care.

Rachel, his social worker, who honored my father's wish to continue to try rehab even though our family and everyone involved with his care knew that it was very unlikely that dad would follow through, that he was likely just trying to ease the path for my sister and me.

Kimball from housekeeping whom my parents loved.  He said "your folks were like another set of parents to me."  He was the first person I saw after dad died.  There I was, hugging this man, tears rolling down my cheeks, thinking: "I don't even know this guy's last name."

The two young women who stopped by as I was cleaning out dad's room in the nursing unit.  I remembered their faces but not how they were involved with dad's care.  They spoke of my father in a way that let me know that he wasn't another patient dying of old age.  I thought: "Yeah, that's dad.  That's dad that they're talking about."

Angel at the front desk who handed me a sympathy card the day after dad died.  And every single person who staffed that desk knew who I was and that I was there visiting my folks.

The woman who ran the dining hall at independent living who called my father, tried to get him to continue eating well, when he was grief-stricken after mom's death.

One evening, as I was cleaning out the apartment, I ordered dinner to be delivered.  The young guy who brought the food handed me an extra container: "I know you got the chocolate cream pie.  I brought an extra piece.  Your dad always got two desserts."  I ate both pieces.

Again, this is only a partial list and I apologize if I've gotten anyone's name wrong or left anyone out, as I surely have.  

Gratefully,

Little Stevie Seaweed