{"id":121,"date":"2016-03-14T21:18:51","date_gmt":"2016-03-15T01:18:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/?page_id=121"},"modified":"2016-04-26T12:11:02","modified_gmt":"2016-04-26T16:11:02","slug":"family","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/stories\/family\/","title":{"rendered":"Family"},"content":{"rendered":"

He wasn\u2019t in his room so we left our rather large umbrella just inside the door (it was pouring outside) and went to look for him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s probably in the dining room,\u201d \u00a0I say as we walk \u00a0back the way we came, past the elevators, \u00a0past the picture window with the two wing-back arm chairs and Chippendale table \u00a0where the lady is \u00a0nodding in her wheelchair. \u00a0We follow \u00a0the stream of people coming and going into the dining hall. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I glance around the room, from table to table. \u00a0Thankfully there were no tables occupied by just one person. \u00a0Everyone has a friend with which to share a meal. \u00a0What if I don\u2019t recognize him? \u00a0\u00a0It\u2019s been two years since I last visited–no four. What if I confuse someone else for my uncle–how embarrassing, I think.<\/span><\/p>\n

But then I see him, unmistakably Cecil–a Mace–my family. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We make our way over to his table. \u00a0\u00a0I\u2019m carrying the Easter bag filled with Little Debbie Cakes and Cadbury Eggs. \u00a0\u00a0My cousin, who visits him weekly, \u00a0has told me what he likes. \u00a0I stand by his side. \u00a0\u00a0He looks up at me. \u00a0I know he doesn\u2019t recognize me.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHi Cecil,\u201d I say. \u00a0\u201cI\u2019m Glenda, Wesley\u2019s daughter.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0His eyes are tired but he takes it in. \u00a0\u00a0After a moment or two he says, \u201cI almost didn\u2019t recognize you.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d \u00a0I say. \u00a0\u00a0\u201cWe\u2019ve come to see you and have brought you some \u00a0treats.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He smiles. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

There are two empty seats at the table. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u201cMay we sit down?\u201d I ask.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d he says and waves his hands (once rough and calloused, now pale and soft) at the empty seats. \u00a0\u00a0He was a roofer and contractor. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We introduce ourselves to the man, John, \u00a0sitting across the table from my uncle. \u00a0We sit down.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve brought you some treats,\u201d \u00a0I say and place the Easter bag on the table. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d he says. \u00a0\u00a0\u201cWe\u2019ll open them in my room.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d \u00a0I say. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

An attendant shows up at his side. \u00a0\u00a0\u201cYou are ringing?\u201d \u00a0He asks.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, you are,\u201d \u00a0the attendant says as he checks the wrist-watch like gadget on my uncle\u2019s wrist. \u201cDid you want to go back to your room.\u201d \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes. \u00a0That\u2019s right,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

I tell the attendant that we can take him. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0We say goodbye to John. \u00a0\u00a0As we are leaving the dessert cart is rolled out. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want to stay for dessert?\u201d \u00a0\u00a0I ask.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u00a0\u201cI have cake in my room.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I push him out of the dining hall, \u00a0past the elevators, \u00a0past the picture window with the two wing-back arm chairs and Chippendale \u00a0table where the lady is asleep \u00a0in her wheelchair–an empty coffee cup has rolled from her lap to the floor. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Cecil directs us.<\/span><\/p>\n

We arrive at his room. \u00a0He spies our umbrella. \u00a0\u00a0\u201cSomeone has left an umbrella here,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it was us. \u00a0\u00a0We came here first looking for you and left our umbrella.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We help him into his Lazy-boy recliner. \u00a0\u00a0The room has a little kitchen and a bedroom\/sitting room combined. \u00a0We see a bathroom through an open door. \u00a0\u00a0I recognize the furniture–taken from his house where he lived with my aunt, Mazzie for 50 or more years: the Duncan Phyfe dining room table, the drop leaves down; the upholstered dining room chairs, the Queen Anne end-tables, the crocheted, white doilies. \u00a0\u00a0I can almost hear her voice–the sweet timbre of Virginia highlands. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The window sill is full of frame pictures: \u00a0Cecil in his WWII Army uniform, \u00a0a family portrait of Cecil, Mazzie and their son, Michael (who died– not yet 18 years old–a hunting accident), \u00a0grandparents and great-grandparents, his and mine too–a march through time–much of which I remember, first hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSit down,\u201d he says and points to the other recliner. \u00a0\u00a0\u201cThere\u2019s another chair by the table,\u201d he says. \u00a0\u201cOr you can sit on my bed.\u201d \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

We get comfortable. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m 96 now,\u201d \u00a0Cecil says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cA youngster,\u201d \u00a0I say. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He smiles. \u00a0\u00a0We smile. \u00a0\u00a0We plunge into memories, my 65 years worth, his 96 years worth–many overlapping. <\/span><\/p>\n

Family. <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a9 Glenda Kotchish<\/span><\/p>\n

March 14, 2016<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

He wasn\u2019t in his room so we left our rather large umbrella just inside the door (it was pouring outside) and went to look for him. \u201cHe\u2019s probably in the dining room,\u201d \u00a0I say as we walk \u00a0back the way we came, past the elevators, \u00a0past the picture window with the two wing-back arm chairs […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":33,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-121","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/121","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=121"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/121\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":123,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/121\/revisions\/123"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/33"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/glendakotchish.com\/dir\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=121"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}