Last Thursday was my last day at Beaufort Day Centre playing Scrabble with Harry. He beat me…. Again.
But I didn’t mind. Harry is one of the kindest most mild-mannered men I have met. I won a lot more than one Scrabble game during the time I spent with him.
We usually waited to play until after we had tea and toast at 11:00 am. One day I was there early so we started the game before we moved into the dining room for tea and toast. As we were getting up, he found a newspaper to cover the board. I asked what he was doing and he told me he was worried someone would mess up our game while we were gone. I figured perhaps memory problems made him paranoid. When we returned, sure enough, someone had moved the paper and completly mixed up the tiles on the board so none of the words were showing. He was totally right. I realized I didn't understand all of the politics at Beaufort. I later realized that the other "lads" were a bit jealous that Harry was receiving so much attention. On days he was not there, Vernonica would tell me that she didn't bother letting me know because "I get on so well with all the lads". So, then I would visit with the other men and the next week when Harry was back, I felt the energy of the other men's disappointment.
I met Harry on February 28 on his 94th birthday. That was the first day I volunteered at the Beaufort Day Centre. I had answered an advertisement to play scrabble with one of the clients at the Centre when I had been looking for volunteer opportunities.
He didn’t want anyone to make a fuss about his birthday….. So we didn’t. We also didn't play Scrabble that first day. We just visited and started to get to know each other.
He grew up in County Meath on a farm near the village of Trim. He complained about de Valera and his policies before I even knew who de Valera was. He left the rural area when farming was no longer economically viable in the 1930’s, and his family moved into Dublin (de Valera's Fianna Fail economic policies were protectionist-oriented. His goal was for Ireland to become self-sufficient with respect to England, but it ended up closing off export opportunities for the farmers).
Harry’s stories were never really linear (or particularly factually accurate) so I don’t exactly know when certain events in his life occurred. But they were fascinating.
I found that when I would ask him follow up questions (like I have been trained to do for depositions), it would be too challenging for him to connect the dots and remember the answers to my questions. I didn't want him to feel embarrassed by not remembering specific events. And I didn't want him to lose track of what he was thinking about by my clarifying questions.
So, I learned to just listen. To ask simple questions that could be easily answered without have to recall too much of the past. I learned to accept the stories as they came and rather than try to put together the puzzle of his life, I learned to just put the pieces down and hope that the picture would end up making sense later, or that I would never really get a coherent picture, just different pieces that would characterize the puzzle as a whole, kind of like the opposite of Cezanne's pointillism. The different points make sense only up close, but at a distance it is just a jumble.
I recognized our son's male ego in him. Sometimes while playing Scrabble he would get stuck. We could both see all of our letters so I would point something out to him. Every time he would use a different word in response. He refused my advice.
I learned that over the years Harry fabricated screw drivers at a sheet metal company, sold Parkers Pens to Chemist shops throughout Ireland and worked in the construction industry. Although he was not college educated, he is extremely bright and clearly was singled out in every job he had as a high achiever and given great opportunities.
He didn’t want anyone to make a fuss about his birthday….. So we didn’t. We also didn't play Scrabble that first day. We just visited and started to get to know each other.
He grew up in County Meath on a farm near the village of Trim. He complained about de Valera and his policies before I even knew who de Valera was. He left the rural area when farming was no longer economically viable in the 1930’s, and his family moved into Dublin (de Valera's Fianna Fail economic policies were protectionist-oriented. His goal was for Ireland to become self-sufficient with respect to England, but it ended up closing off export opportunities for the farmers).
Harry’s stories were never really linear (or particularly factually accurate) so I don’t exactly know when certain events in his life occurred. But they were fascinating.
I found that when I would ask him follow up questions (like I have been trained to do for depositions), it would be too challenging for him to connect the dots and remember the answers to my questions. I didn't want him to feel embarrassed by not remembering specific events. And I didn't want him to lose track of what he was thinking about by my clarifying questions.
So, I learned to just listen. To ask simple questions that could be easily answered without have to recall too much of the past. I learned to accept the stories as they came and rather than try to put together the puzzle of his life, I learned to just put the pieces down and hope that the picture would end up making sense later, or that I would never really get a coherent picture, just different pieces that would characterize the puzzle as a whole, kind of like the opposite of Cezanne's pointillism. The different points make sense only up close, but at a distance it is just a jumble.
I recognized our son's male ego in him. Sometimes while playing Scrabble he would get stuck. We could both see all of our letters so I would point something out to him. Every time he would use a different word in response. He refused my advice.
I learned that over the years Harry fabricated screw drivers at a sheet metal company, sold Parkers Pens to Chemist shops throughout Ireland and worked in the construction industry. Although he was not college educated, he is extremely bright and clearly was singled out in every job he had as a high achiever and given great opportunities.
Harry met Gladys when he was in his 20’s and they were married in Dublin. They had two girls, Heather and Caroline. Believe it or not, he told me that Caroline lives in Minneapolis. He told me the story about when he and Gladys found the house he still lives in. He called her “love” when he described their conversations and he shared with me the detailed negotiations about the house, all done over a handshake with the builder.
Harry now lives with his daughter Heather, her husband and their son who is a student at Trinity. Heather moved in with him a few years ago as she was concerned that he should not live alone. He claimed he does not know what Heather and her husband do for work, but I expect he just didn’t remember when I asked.
Harry talked about how Heather remodeled their house and made him an apartment to live in the back. He clearly didn’t like all of the design choices they made but he made it clear he never complains about anything. Anything except his poorly fitting dentures which he took out one day to show me just how tight they are in his mouth.
At one point I missed a week. He asked for me at the center which, as I later heard was unusual. He doesn't usually remember anyone's name. The director thought that it was significant that he remembered and was missing me.
It was definitely significant to me.
At one point I missed a week. He asked for me at the center which, as I later heard was unusual. He doesn't usually remember anyone's name. The director thought that it was significant that he remembered and was missing me.
It was definitely significant to me.
Harry and I played scrabble when I visited. I let him beat me every week but one….and we both laughed hard when I teased him about finally beating him. He accused me of “cooking the books” as I always kept score. He had an usual way of playing the game as you can see below:
We usually waited to play until after we had tea and toast at 11:00 am. One day I was there early so we started the game before we moved into the dining room for tea and toast. As we were getting up, he found a newspaper to cover the board. I asked what he was doing and he told me he was worried someone would mess up our game while we were gone. I figured perhaps memory problems made him paranoid. When we returned, sure enough, someone had moved the paper and completly mixed up the tiles on the board so none of the words were showing. He was totally right. I realized I didn't understand all of the politics at Beaufort. I later realized that the other "lads" were a bit jealous that Harry was receiving so much attention. On days he was not there, Vernonica would tell me that she didn't bother letting me know because "I get on so well with all the lads". So, then I would visit with the other men and the next week when Harry was back, I felt the energy of the other men's disappointment.
The ladies who work at the Beufort Day Center, Veronica and Barbara, had a box of chocolates for me as a parting gift as well as a lovely card. They went on and on about how much they had appreciated my visits and that the “lads” had really enjoyed spending time with me. I tried to explain to them how the experience had meant more to me than it could have to anyone I met there. I feel extremely grateful that I had the opportunity to be reminded regularly that life is EXTREMELY short and I am one of the luckiest people I know. |
| Harry in the dining room with Michael who I also got to know well |
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