Jim Mullen
“There’s no telling how many innocent lives will be saved.”
“It’s not a joke. How’s he going to get around? How is he going to buy groceries? How is he going to get to Dr. Sam’s?”
“What do you want me to do? I’ve asked him to come live with us a hundred times. He’d love it here and we’ve got plenty of room. And I can’t leave Sue and the kids to go a thousand miles to help him every week. What do I tell them? ‘I can’t be here for you because my old man refuses to listen to common sense, so instead of spending time with you, I have to spend it with him’?
“Sorry, but I’ve got enough problems right here. Sue’s mom’s been in and out of the hospital 10 times in two months, and her dad gets lost when he goes to visit her. He can never remember what floor she’s on, or what wing. And it’s not because he’s lost his marbles, it’s because the hospital is a maze – everything’s painted the same color. Once you get off the elevator, there’s no way to tell where you are. I get lost and I have all my faculties. I wish I had shares in whoever makes seafoam-green hospital paint. They’re making a fortune on it.”
“I know, I know,” said Jane. “But I can’t do it, either. Martin’s just had another pacemaker put in, and we don’t know when – or if – he’s going back to work. I can’t leave him alone, and I don’t want to. I keep telling Dad to come live with us. The sun is always out, there’s no winter here … he could learn to play golf.”
“He’s had 84 years to learn how to play golf. I don’t think he’s gonna start now.”
“What do you want me to do? He barely talks to me. I ask him what’s new, and all he’ll say is that more of his friends have died or moved to Florida. The funny thing is, there’s nothing really wrong with him. He’s not in pain, he’s not feeble, he’s not stupid. He knows more about current events than I do. If only he’d get rid of that big old house and move into something smaller – a place where he wouldn’t need to drive. Like an assisted-living place. He’d have his own kitchen and his own rooms.”
“Those places are so expensive. Why can’t he live with us? We could even split it up: me half the year, you the other half. The grandkids would love it. They haven’t heard about how much fun it was to fight in Korea yet. I keep hearing about those vets who never talk about their war experiences, and it makes me wonder if they were in the same war. He won’t shut up about it.”
“Tell me about it. If I have to hear about how to make real kimchi again …”
“I just don’t think we can do anything until he’s too old to fight back.”
“I don’t know what to do. There’s just no way this is going to have a happy ending. The last time I called him, I said, ‘What if you fall and break a hip?’ You know what he told me? He said, ‘Nobody was worried I might get hurt when they sent me to Korea when I was 18. Why are they so worried I’ll get hurt now? Stop being so worried I’m gonna die. There’s worse things that could happen.’
“I said, ‘What could possibly be worse than dying?’
“He said, ‘Not dying could be worse. Alzheimer’s, cancer, emphysema …’
“’But you don’t have any of those,’ I said. ‘You’re lucky.’ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Wife dead, friends dead. How lucky can one man get?’ Then he laughed. I don’t think he’s taking us seriously.”
“When he starts taking us seriously, we’ll know something’s wrong. Let’s wait till then.”
— Jim Mullen takes a wry, witty look at the curiosities of American life in his weekly column.
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