Sunday, December 13, 2015

Uncle Bill in Better Days
It is hard to stay caught up with Uncle Bill. He just turned 88 a couple weeks ago but still has a few tricks up his sleeve(s). 

UB is very OCD. He has been hiding his mail so I cannot find it. Bills, checks, everything have disappeared for the last two weeks. I think he is trying to take control back of his life. He cannot handle the bills and checks so normally I do it.

I got a brilliant idea. I put a shoe box way back on the top of the fridge where he would not be likely to see it and I asked the health care aides to let him see his mail, then to quietly collect it and put it in the shoe box for me. 

On Sunday I went to get his mail. The aide said lots of mail had come during the week and she had put it in the box. But nothing was there, not even the shoe box. On a hunch, I went to the closet where the shoe box had been kept and there it was, in its usual place.

Me: Uncle Bill, what did you do with the mail in the box?
UB: Mail? I don't know. Maybe someone took it.
Me: Why did you take the shoe box down? (Stupid question, we all know shoe boxes do not belong on the top of the fridge)
UB: I don't know where the mail went. Maybe someone robbed it.
As I went about getting his medications together for the week, I found that one needed refilling. I called Walgreen's. The pharmacy tech told me it had already been delivered to the house. It appears that SOMEONE has hidden the medicine. I cannot find it anywhere.

Meanwhile, as I continue spinning my wheels looking for his non-existent mail and the medication that was delivered (meds to help his memory!) I cannot help but wonder if there is not some little joyful part of UB that is relishing seeing me zig-zagging on this unwanted scavenger hunt. My mind is all rabbitty wondering, "Did I look here? and "Could it be in the cabinet under the sink?" UB is not worried. He is talking about his self-chosen Theme of the Day, which today is getting up too early.

UB: I woke up and it was still dark. About 3:00. I walked down to the dining room and there was no one there. The police wanted to know why I was not sleeping. When I came back to my apartment, the mailman followed me into my room and wanted to know why I was up. Then I got a long distance call (he never answers the phone because he cannot hear it and he cannot work the phone.) They were calling for a bar on the beach. Someone sounded kind of drunk. I told them that they were calling too early in the morning. They should have some breakfast and then call back.

Of course, none of this happened. Maybe this is the place to be, in the world of Uncle Bill, instead of the real world where bad things happen more often than not.  Love my uncle!

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