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The Doctor
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Went to see my Neurologist ... Nice guy ... did thorough exam. After 40 minutes:
"Let's check your memory and stuff."
"OK!"
The Doc who is not much younger than me -- maybe on the cusp of the Last Quarter -- went to get an ipad explaining that his medical group had developed a test and it was pretty good at finding evidence of Mild Neurocognitive Deficits ... stuff like not being able to retrieve names ... overly slow processing ... forgetting to unzip your pants zipper when appropriate ... etc.
So, he got his ipad ... messed around with it a bit ... and then admitted that he couldn't remember the password to get into the program. He walked around the halls asking others; nobody seemed to know. What to say?
The neuro-impaired leading the neuro-impaired.
In the end, he gave me a paper and pencil test and confirmed to his satisfaction that I was no more impaired than he. I think that may have been reassuring ... I'm just not certain!
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The Funeral
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I noted in our last dance that my friend Boris had died and M and I were going to the funeral. The Funeral? Actually, the Memorial Service; that is to say, Boris was not there. His wife and kids were greeting people as they arrived ... the deep sadness they felt was background ... perhaps to the thought that Boris hadn't suffered for long. "So good to see you!" His widow and kids spoke. His ex-doctoral students ... some 20 people received their PhD's under his direct guidance ... relatives, colleagues, friends. His wife, son and daughter kept it quite upbeat. The wife and a cousin filled in a bit of History ... one of those self-made cool histories.
Bori was born in Siberia in 1939. His Mom died when he was 8 months old and his Dad was killed fighting the invading Nazis when he was maybe 4. A cousin's family took him in and they and millions of others trapsed around Europe, until the war ended in 1945 when they bounced around in Displaced Persons Camps and finally arrived in the States (detroit) when Boris ... speaking neither English nor Russian ... was maybe 11 years old.
At that time, Boris was put in the First Grade ... taught himself English and managed to secure a PhD in Applied Statistics (I think) by the time he was 27 or something. The family talks were followed by Friends, Colleagues and especially his Students. Boris was a good friend, concerned guide, and rigorous Scholar. Lots of the people were obviously torn up by his sudden loss. His human impact on these people was right there ... tears ... expressions of deep loss.
M and I got into the roadster to drive to the family home for a short time; I needed to get back to the office. After some quiet and wiped tears, I suggested to M that I was not against her being devastated at my funeral ... lots of tears from her and the kids would be fine. There would be time for her to get back to life quickly. No "Burial at Ur," where the early anthropologist Wooley found that a great man had been buried with his wives and cattle. No. But in the days immediately following my death? lots of tears ... lots of tissues ... all that would be good.
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The Party
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That was Friday. Sunday was for us different. All but one of our Grandchildren would come to eat, be with each other and play in the pool, as many had done before ... 3 of their parents were there, too. Two of the parent-Gen were taking the sixth grandchild to school 300 miles off. She was missed by all. And my oldest son was rear-ended in his Porsche ... not a good day for him.
But the glee of the 5 grandchildren playing in the pool ... Grandpa tossing a number of them in.
Life is good. Sadness followed by glee followed by more sadness and glee. Crying and Laughing and Playing. Not holding back. Maybe the highpoint of the Sunny Day was the Littlest-of-the-Grandspawn's discovery of the Power of the Hose. Little Chloe, 6 years old next week, discovered that being the one with the hose gives you Power ... power over your big cousins and power over Grandpa. The look on a little kid's face when she has everybody's attention and her finger pressed against the trigger. Wow!
But the glee of the 5 grandchildren playing in the pool ... Grandpa tossing a number of them in.
Life is good.
Life is good. Sadness followed by glee followed by more sadness and glee. Crying and Laughing and Playing. Not holding back. Maybe the highpoint of the Sunny Day was the Littlest-of-the-Grandspawn's discovery of the Power of the Hose. Little Chloe, 6 years old next week, discovered that being the one with the hose gives you Power ... power over your big cousins and power over Grandpa. The look on a little kid's face when she has everybody's attention and her finger pressed against the trigger. Wow!
Hanging around for the Fourth Quarter has its advantages!
A Doctor, a Funeral and a Party! How much better can it get?
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