Just when you think you've heard the last of me, right? I've got news. Not good news, but news you all should know about I suppose.
Nannie passed away at about 4pm PST yesterday. Apparently she'd fallen down the stairs on her way to do laundry about four days prior, and was in a state of semiconsciousness. She had her help button on, but whether or not she pushed it, we don't know. I have to say, though, that I'm completely pissed.
The company that was in charge of the "oh my god I've fallen down" button was supposed to get a call from her every day and if they didn't, they were supposed to call us and notify the police and/or the hospital. Obviously, she couldn't/didn't call the company, and no one was notified. Dad's friend, Neil is Nannie's postman, and he noticed that her mail was piling up. He knew that wasn't right, 'cause you know Nannie. He went down to the police station and had them call. They didn't get an answer, so they went to her house. They couldn't get an answer at the door, so they called Jason. He came and opened the door, and they wouldn't let him go inside. She was semi-conscious on the stairs, in a pile of her own waste. Not a good way to go. So they took her to the ER hospital. She lived, I guess, for a few hours. Dad came before she passed, as did aunt Sally and aunt Lolly. I've never heard my dad crying so hard that he couldn't really talk. It's strange to think that this woman who gave him so much grief would cause him to melt down like that. I'll chalk it up to many factors. No one should have to die like that.
I just thought I'd give you the lowdown and let you know what was going on. Aunt Lolly was taking pictures of the scene of the "accident" last I heard, and she's out for blood (as am I) when it comes to this company. They were supposed to recieve a phone call from her every day and when they didn't, that should've been it. That should've been the point that they notified the police or the hospital and they didn't. It's strange, trusting other people with the wellbeing of your loved ones, but even worse is when they shirk their responsibility and we end up with a situation like this.
For all those of you thinking "oh my god, I hope she's ok" let me just say yes, I'm fine... but I'm more angry and hurt than anything else. This company won't be getting off easy on this one. Even if I have to hire a lawyer myself and get this done. No one should have to have that happen to them... and no 18 year old grandchild should have to open the door for the police to discover his grandmother's body like that. She wasn't responding to voices in the hospital... but I heard from mom that she squeezed aunt Lolly's hand there at the end. That makes it a little bit more bearable.
She'd donated her body to science (To MSU's nursing college) but because of the shape she was in, they wouldn't take her. I somehow think it would've been better if they had, that way I wouldn't have had to see her laying there in the coffin. I don't want to do that. I don't thik I can. I'll be going to the service and everything, don't get me wrong... but when it comes to visitation, I can't do that. I did it with papa and I don't want to have to ever do that again. I threw away that last letter she wrote me about a week ago. I knew I shouldn't have. Something told me not to, and yet I did it anyway. It had a quote from her favorite hymn in it and now I can't remember what it was. I know that mom will remember, or at least I hope she will. Something tells me Nannie spent some time praying and thinking of those verses while she lie there on the stairs waiting for the inevitible.
Friday, September 9, 2005
Tuesday, January 4, 2005
... Like Excited Monkeys
While sitting in the living room the other day with "the boys" (Aka: Butters, Satan, Guido -my little brother- the pimp), I was wont to dig through mom and dad's collection of albums. There have to be close to 100 there on the last shelf of the TV throne and it's been FAR too long since I've laughed through them. Why laugh? Bands such as Santana, The Guess Who, Zepplin, and Janis Joplin all have mom's maiden name written on them, while all the John Denver, Carly Simon and Cat Stevens albums are dad's.
Sad but true. A very strange duo they make, that's for sure.
At any rate, upon the realization of my "The Chipmunks Sing The Beatles" album's presence, the boys absolutely insist that they hear this. Now, dad's turntable is still hooked up to the speakers he bought in 1970 (and are hooked up to the television as well), but the table isn't plugged in because no one can remember the last time we used it. Still, I rescued an old record player (complete with internal speakers) from Rae's new house when they were moving in. I'd yet to have a reason to use it, but this proved the perfect opportunity.
So the four of us ran upstairs with an armfull of albums and a gleam in our eyes. I hopped onto the bed, assuming that boys being boys, they'd want to work it. It took exactly 2 minutes for me to dissolve into a fit of giggles at the "Excited Monkey" scratching and tilting of heads. Apparently none of these children has ever had to work such a contraption, and first and foremost couldn't figure out how to put the album ON the table, let alone how to get it to turn. They played with every single knob the poor thing has (all what, five?) and then turned to me, with big eyes and bewildered looks. They shoved out the album and Satan added "YOU do it... it's broken."
I of course had very few problems getting it onto the table, or the table turning, but in the process of their happy excited monkey phase, they had turned the speed all the way down, so the Chipmunks sounded like...well, normal humans. In fact, they ALMOST sounded like the Beatles. I fixed that easily enough, though, and then of course they were incensed... boys being what they are, you know. They wanted track one and five.. so I played one and pointed, telling Satan he could play five if he wanted. This was bad. He slid the needle all the way across the album to try and get it to the last track...and I nearly killed him. I explained that you have to LIFT the needle.. and he still insisted on calling the album a "CD". How is it that already the generation has lost this invaluable skill? The only people who deal with albums anymore are DJ's... but there have to be people my age who can remember playing records, right? I can't be the only freak out there!
Sad but true. A very strange duo they make, that's for sure.
At any rate, upon the realization of my "The Chipmunks Sing The Beatles" album's presence, the boys absolutely insist that they hear this. Now, dad's turntable is still hooked up to the speakers he bought in 1970 (and are hooked up to the television as well), but the table isn't plugged in because no one can remember the last time we used it. Still, I rescued an old record player (complete with internal speakers) from Rae's new house when they were moving in. I'd yet to have a reason to use it, but this proved the perfect opportunity.
So the four of us ran upstairs with an armfull of albums and a gleam in our eyes. I hopped onto the bed, assuming that boys being boys, they'd want to work it. It took exactly 2 minutes for me to dissolve into a fit of giggles at the "Excited Monkey" scratching and tilting of heads. Apparently none of these children has ever had to work such a contraption, and first and foremost couldn't figure out how to put the album ON the table, let alone how to get it to turn. They played with every single knob the poor thing has (all what, five?) and then turned to me, with big eyes and bewildered looks. They shoved out the album and Satan added "YOU do it... it's broken."
I of course had very few problems getting it onto the table, or the table turning, but in the process of their happy excited monkey phase, they had turned the speed all the way down, so the Chipmunks sounded like...well, normal humans. In fact, they ALMOST sounded like the Beatles. I fixed that easily enough, though, and then of course they were incensed... boys being what they are, you know. They wanted track one and five.. so I played one and pointed, telling Satan he could play five if he wanted. This was bad. He slid the needle all the way across the album to try and get it to the last track...and I nearly killed him. I explained that you have to LIFT the needle.. and he still insisted on calling the album a "CD". How is it that already the generation has lost this invaluable skill? The only people who deal with albums anymore are DJ's... but there have to be people my age who can remember playing records, right? I can't be the only freak out there!
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