Justified

He is an ornery fellow. He has been in tremendous pain for a few years and the ever increasing dosages of morphine have not contained it. He tries to be pleasant.
It is the Gentleman gene in him.

He is always telling me how people today have *no time* for anything.
I agree, of course.
The people he is refering to are his family.
They live close enough to come visit but they rarely do.
His wife is long dead. His children and grandchildren and even great grandchildren call and promise to visit at least once a month but it rarely happens and when they do come they stay for an hour or so.

He hates the idea of being feeble. He hates that someone has to wash him and wipe him.
It was not too bad when he could bear the shower but now that he is bedbound it is tough.

Hospice dropped off a bed and plopped it in his living room.
Now there are daughters and sons and in laws and outlaws everywhere these days.
They came when word got out he was in bed.

I come in, same as always and am screened by one of them.
I get a few thousand instructions and I nod politely and walk on in.
Before I can get to the Living Room another one has blocked my path to begin another recitation about what MUST be done and HOW. I nod again and keep going.

At the bedside I pull up a stool and lean in to say hello.
The family are already coo-cooing about being too loud and too much.
He looks at me and rolls his eyes. The daughter catches the movement and squeals.
"Oh he is in so much pain. This is awful. You shouldn't be leaning over him like that."

He looks at me and tries to say something.
The Daughter shoves her way past me and says:
"Yes dad? Yes? What is it Dad?"
He pulls himself up on one elbow; a heroic gesture.
He rasps: "Get the HELL out. All of ya."
She turns and smirks at me.
"You'll have to leave. Dad can't take all this."
The bed shakes and he practically spits the words:
"NOT HER---- YOU. GET OUT"

I close off the room and do my thing and we talk a little bit in voices low so they cannot hear.
I gather my supplies up and leave, giving him a little hug.
I walk back out the way I came in. No roadblocks this time.
They are out on the porch smoking.

I say goodbye and get in my car and leave.

Wish I could tell you this was unusual.
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