Remembering a Marine

I quit my first and only CNA job in August of 2018 just before I started my first and only semester of nursing school. I had sworn to myself that I would never take another job again where I would just be wiping butts and babysitting grown-ups.

Then I got a call from my mom.

"Do you know who Eunice Ray is?" she asked.

"I know the name but I don't really know her, why?" I questioned.

"Well, she asked me today if I knew of anyone who would be willing to help her care for her husband at night. I don't know all of the logistics or details, but I wanted to ask you first before I said anything to her."

I hesitated for a moment before saying something like, "Tell her I'm interested, but I want to try it out first."

The next Monday I was in the cottage on Hall's Hill Farm with Kelley (Eunice and Colonel's daughter) and Eunice, trying to get him to lay down in bed for more than 10 seconds. My job for the night - and every night I stayed there after that - was to make sure that he was safe, in bed, and dry (please don't ask me to explain what that means). In the morning at around 6:45 a.m., I was to get him out of bed, put his shoes on, and walk him over to Eunice's house for breakfast. The first night I worried that I would oversleep, but that was before I found out that even after suffering from brain damage as a result of his time in Vietnam, the colonel woke up every morning at 6:45 on the dot. I kid you not. 6:45 exactly every single morning.

Some nights he would get up every 15-20 minutes just to stand there and smile at me when I came into his bedroom and get back into bed almost by himself. Other nights he wouldn't get up at all.

Each night when I arrived, I would go into the room and let him know that I was there before he fell asleep. I wasn't sure if he would remember me or not (and he probably didn't), but I felt it was the polite thing to do. He would always have something to say, usually a few scattered words from the Winston Churchill show he watched every night while he went to sleep. My personal favorite thing he ever said to me was, "you're a handsome young man." I chuckled and said, "thank you, Colonel, you're not too bad yourself." and he even chuckled back.

But my favorite thing about caring for colonel those first few months was taking him to see Eunice in the morning. No, it's not because I was finally free to leave and go about my day. It was because when Colonel saw Eunice, it seemed like his entire body would relax. He would get this huge smile on his face and she would talk to him like nothing was wrong, and he would listen like he understood what she was saying (and I truly believe that he did). He loved her and she loved him, there was no question about that.

A few months later in November, Eunice asked me to meet with her for coffee. When we met, she told me that she had made the decision to take Colonel to Hallmark House, where he stayed until April of this year. He was safe there and he could walk around safely to his heart's content.

In March, Eunice asked me if I could go and have dinner at Hallmark House with Colonel while she was out of town. Of course I obliged.  She needed me to make sure he ate and to clean his teeth and put him in bed when he was done.

The second night I was supposed to do so, I arrived to Hallmark House to see a sign on the door that said, "There are no visitors allowed in the facility due to the coronavirus outbreak" or something like that.  Knowing Eunice and figuring that she had probably called and they made an exception for me (because I had no knowledge of the magnitude that this virus would become) I still walked in and asked one of the ladies at the front desk if Eunice had called and if I could come in. She said, "no, I can't let you in, I'm sorry."

I walked out the door and immediately called Eunice with tears in my eyes, telling her I felt guilty and asked her if there was anything I could do. She said no, but if anything changed she would let me know.

A few weeks later, Eunice called me and told me she was bringing Colonel home. She asked if I would be willing to help her on the weekends to take him on walks and feed him dinner and get him ready for bed. And of course I said yes.

About a week later, Eunice and I were in her car on our way to pick him up. When I tell you that Colonel made a sigh of relief when he saw her, it's like every other sigh of relief I've heard in my life wasn't one at all. As soon as we got him into the car he told Eunice, "I'm so happy to see you." I teared up in the back seat, making sure Eunice didn't see and lovingly call me a weenie.

We got him home, cut his hair, fed him an apple, cleaned his teeth, and we all sat out on the front lawn while he smiled and laughed at whatever Eunice said, even if it wasn't funny at all. I think he was just happy to hear her voice.

For the next few weekends I would come and take him on walks. We would walk around the farm and I would tell him about everything that was going on in my life. I told him about the coronavirus, how they cancelled the rest of my semester, how my graduation was being postponed. Sometimes I asked him random questions about Eunice. 

Once I asked him, "so what d'you think about Eunice?"

He replied, "He's my best guy."

When I told Eunice that later she said, "yeah, I'm the best guy he knows." with that funny little smirk she does when she knows she's being smart. (but I love it)

On Tuesday, June 30, I received a text from my mom stating that Colonel was going into renal failure. The doctors said he could either have an operation that would leave him with a permanent catheter, or they could choose to let this be the way Colonel goes back home. Eunice, knowing that Colonel wouldn't be able to live comfortably, made the decision that the latter would be the best option for him.

This news obviously saddened me. I cried in my bed for a few minutes before wondering what to do next. Later that day, I texted Shelby, Eunice and Colonel's son, and asked if it would be okay if I came and said goodbye, as Colonel would be coming home and Hospice would be involved. He said that would certainly be okay, and that he would let me know the next morning when would be best.

Wednesday evening, I drove to Hall's Hill Farm not knowing what to expect. A month ago I was with a physically capable, healthy, and happy Colonel. I was scared that he would look sick or that he would be in pain, but I knew that I would feel guilty if I didn't come and tell him goodbye.

I walked into the cottage and was immediately greeted by Eunice's smiling face thanking me for coming by. I hugged her, smiled, said a few words, and walked over to Colonel's bed. He looked tired, with his mouth wide open like it always was when he slept. But I felt like he was peaceful. I felt peaceful. I felt like God or angels or the Holy Spirit were all there in that room comforting him. He talked some scattered words I couldn't understand, just as he normally did. There was a lethargy to him, but that was to be expected.

When he heard my voice he woke up. I just told him, "It's alright Colonel, we'll go on a walk soon." I held his hand for a moment while I listened to Shelby update me on the goings-on. And then I got up.

I talked to Eunice for a moment more, and I walked out the door. When I turned around, she looked at me over her glasses and said, "Thank you for coming. It means a lot." echoed by Shelby.

I went home and felt weird. I felt like I should be sad but I was oddly joyful. It sounds bad, but I was happy for Colonel. No longer was his earthly vessel going to keep him anchored down. No longer was his soul going to be trapped, no longer was his mind wasting away. He was going to be free at last, in the arms of his Father and family in heaven.

Later that night, I read the Eulogy that is going to be read at his funeral. In his life, Colonel didn't talk much about his time in Vietnam. He never boasted about his achievements. But this Eulogy was a 13-page memoriam of a small percentage of the things he had accomplished and some of the awards he had received. I knew that Colonel was decorated, but I never knew he was THAT decorated. He had shown such bravery in countless situations and he never bragged about it.

My time with Colonel not only made me appreciate life, it made me appreciate veterans. I've always been the kind of person to shake a veterans hand when I see them with their hat on. But knowing Colonel and the sacrifices he made gave me a more personal reason to thank every veteran I see, whether I believe they want it or not.

Going on walks with Colonel taught me that there's always another step you can take. Sure, he was only a shell of the amazing man that he used to be, but he was still just as friendly and determined as he had reportedly always been. 

Colonel taught me that real love isn't a part of your mind, it is a part of your heart. Because of the brain injury he sustained in Vietnam, he couldn't function normally later in his life. But that never stopped him from loving anyone, especially Eunice. Love isn't something you throw around in your mind, it is something that is so deeply rooted in your heart that even when your mind forgets, your heart remembers.

I will always remember Colonel and my time with him will always hold a special place in my soul.

Happy 4th of July, Colonel. It's because of people like you that we can still celebrate.