The Captain

You're used to me referring to the father-in-law as Hangdog or the Unabomber. With respect to his military training, our physician (and saint-in-training) always calls him "Captain."

Today, the husband and his brother picked up the Captain at the Home. They explained the situation and headed to the hospice facility. The baby came home from college and we met them there. Our doctor was there because no one knew what to expect. Would he faint? Would he have a heart attack? Would he have medical questions about her condition?

He handled it like a trooper. (I swear I should've had some military training.) He kept the stiff upper lip and tried to talk to her. Then he decided she wasn't answering him so he accosted the doctor with all of his various ailments. That's the Hangdog I know and love!

This was probably the Captain's last visit with his wife. He's handling the transition much better than expected. He wants to know what's going to happen to him. That's normal and expected.

This was a tough day for the baby. And, I do remember my turn when my own grandparents were dropping like flies. I threw my arms around the baby so many times today that I'm sure he wanted to say, "Get off of me, Fungus!"

Captain is back in the Home. The phone call circle has begun.