Mom queried, "Yeah, well, what is, what's the problem nurse?"
"Ah," she started slowly "something very unusual is happening with Bill, not any of us has seen before."
By now my mother was about to vault over the table and choke the information out of the head nurse "Yes, what, what, what's the concern nurse?"
"Well lately, Bill's movements have come out 95 percent ... sherbet. We can't figure why. We're concerned."
I told her I didn't think it was a problem and that if she checks her duty schedule she might find the sherbet movements coincide strictly with nurse assistant Kelly's work days.
From then on I'd enter dad's room with a hearty "Hey dad, let me guess; the flavor of the day is raspberry mocha nut. Again."
You're disgusted, but I tell you what. Visit a nursing home every day for thirteen months to watch your dad slowly whither away, and you'll hope things arise to take the edge off.
My aunt ended up dying in the same nursing home.
Last Thanksgiving night, just about when I was loosening my trousers I got the call. I rang ma and we went down to look at Aunt Laura. They don't move the deceased, they keep them as is till you get there so you can look at them. So we looked at her, and, sure enough she was dead. So we looked at her some more, and left.
For a period of time mom continued to visit the nursing home. I believe she hasn't been in a good lone while.
My aunt was the fourth to last strain of our strain of DeWees. What's left is my ma, my sis and me. I'm the last dude, so I better get to breeding. Any gals out there wanna breed, ring me. I don't mean breed to have a kid, I just mean, if I'm the last of a strain of something, I sure as hang think I want to go out breeding.