Newt

Usually when I try to write for this blog, I want to talk about the clothes and Heffy's Collections and keep it light. It's not always possible (especially when one's sense of humor may be a bit stifled). Today's won't be the opposite though, either, because there really is happiness in the story.

Becky and I started taking care of my dad December 2006 after he had a "TIA". I put it in quotes since the doctors termed it a mini-stroke. Saturday night, as was his habit, he drove to Wilson to pick up Eleanor, took her to dinner in Olcott, then back to Wilson and home. Wilson and Olcott are small towns on Lake Ontario. Sunday morning, he got up and dressed, got as far as the top of the stairs and then couldn't move. The guy who had been totally independent up to then was rendered dependent in almost every aspect of life. There was nothing "mini" about it. We brought him home Feb. 16, the beginning of a year that changed our lives. We started the eBay business and subsequently our website as a way to try to stay home and continue to take care of him. As he failed and required more time, we hung in there. We had days of screaming at each other. We had days we didn't think we'd make it any farther. We'd talk, try for solutions (hard to come by), and move to the next plateau. In September, he stopped walking and standing (except with a bear hug). A couple of weeks ago, he stopped even that. It took 2 to do everything. At the same time, he could no longer hold a fork or spoon, so we fed him. Slowly, we watched him fade. Becky and I used each other to get through the day, making our work goals as well as our tasks for Newt. This week, we knew he didn't have much longer. Tuesday, his eyes didn't open at all. He was talking a lot (not to us). I talked to him off and on and he seemed to know I was there. He even said something once. I left to go home, telling him I'd be back in a bit. Becky checked on him, made some hot cocoa, and when she went back to talk to him, he was gone.

We called him Newt. I don't know why, it was one of my mother's little things. He didn't mind. His family (the Tysons), called him Dix-he was the 10th child of 12. His friends called him Tex. a man of as many names as there were aspects to him. He loved people, reading, being active, his family. He would take me and later Becky on road trips to "teach" us. We learned how to farm, all about animals, crops, farm machinery. We learned about construction. Every place we went, there was another opportunity for him to teach us something because he had such a wide range of interests. He taught us to always be curious and learn, there is never enough time to get it all. He told stories. He joked. And he taught us family is most important of all. He would take us on trips on the spur of the moment and we'd have a ball. He read obsessively. Before he retired, he loved his job at the Red Cross-it combined people, teaching, learning, and people. It was great for him. He could and did engage people in conversation everywhere he went. It's what he did.

There would never be enough space to give tribute to his life and the man. I'm just trying to fill the space and hours in the day that were spent taking care of him over the last year. The house seems empty, though it certainly isn't. If we get it cleared out in less than 6 months, it's going to be a miracle. Thank you Newt for letting us see you through the only time in your life you were ever sick. I'm trying to invoke his spirit to tell Becky how much her devotion and care toward him made the difference in this last journey. She lived with him and carried the burden most of all. She was rarely away from it in the entire year. And it has hit her hardest of all. It was her beloved grandpa and it showed every day. I wish I shared their depth of feeling for one another, but it was theirs. I hope she can remember the good parts, like him asking her to play the piano and the two of them sharing show tunes to classical to jazz. There are so many, that's just one they both cherished.

One year and ten days out of our lives that have changed us, probably for the better. I hope it makes you smile, Newt. You're back with mom and your family. I love you.

Paul Tyson
5/6/16-2/26/08