Long before my Dad fell and injured his neck, my Mom took over the health care of her younger brother and sole remaining sibling, Mickey.
My Uncle Mickey was a fixture in our lives. A confirmed bachelor, he lived with his brother Pat until Pat’s death a dozen years ago. Before that, the two brothers took care of their Mom, our Nana, until she died back in the ‘80s. They lived in our neighborhood and attended the same church so it was easy for them to be involved in our lives throughout the years.
Mickey was a night owl who loved to stroll the streets of the neighborhood, keeping watch while the rest of us slept. You could always tell when he was near by the aroma of his ever present cigar.
He was the quintessential Irishman: small in stature but enormous in personality.
He was gruff, blunt, fearless in his opinions and more than occasionally coarse in his humor. He loved a good joke almost as much as he loved great food and good cigars. His contribution to Holiday dinners was always several bottles of really good wine and a stack of pies: apple, pumpkin and mincemeat (his favorite).
Side note: when I was little, I used to watch Klondike Kat, who constantly threatened to make mincemeat out of his nemesis, Savoir Faire, who was a mouse. Therefore, I thought mincemeat pie was made of mice. Yuk. To this day, I have never eaten mincemeat pie.
Uncle Mickey was full of surprises.
I remember once, when Jay and I were newlyweds, Mickey invited us to his house for dinner, where he cooked us a fabulous lamb chop dinner. He was the first person I ever knew who fit the description of an epicure.
And in the end, that’s what killed him.
He developed severe diabetes late in his life and he never took care of himself. He continued to enjoy his food, his cigars and his Manhattans long after his doctors told him they’d destroy his health.
He continued to enjoy his late night strolls about the neighborhood until his eyesight failed to the point of being legally blind.
He continued to enjoy the company of his friends over coffee and cigars, eating whatever he felt like, assuming that’s what the insulin was for.
When he felt good, he forgot to take his insulin.
Eventually, all that good livin’ took its toll on his body. My Mom was his next of kin and tried her darndest to get him to pay attention to his health but Mickey made his own choices and they may not always have been the wisest choices but he lived on his own terms for as long as he could. Last September, his doctors told him that his kidneys were failing and nothing more could be done. We helped him move into a nursing home in the neighborhood. He gave my Mom power of attorney to take care of all his affairs. She managed his pension, his bills, his health care, his doctors appointments and carried out all his wishes concerning his demise. None of us thought he’d live til Halloween.
But he did!
Without access to all the things that he loved to do, his health improved just enough to keep him alive and complaining for an additional eight months.
After Dad fell, there were days where Mom went straight from Dad’s hospital room to Mickey’s nursing home. We did what we could to help her with all of it.
A week after Dad’s fall, just after he’d been moved to the rehabilitation facility, Mickey needed a procedure downtown. My sister took on the task of getting him down to HCMC so Mom didn’t have to.
After several hours of mishaps which concluded with the procedure nothappening, Katie and Mickey threw in the towel and went to Mickey’s favorite local patisserie for lunch. She sent out a text announcing their intention and Mom, JP, Andy and I all joined them at Patrick’s. We couldn’t get Mickey out of the car, so we brought him his lunch and had a picnic in the parking lot.
A few days later, he went into Hospice care.
Once that happened, he was free to enjoy the things he loved again; MJ brought him a batch of Devil Cookies and a friend of his showed up one afternoon with a large jar of Manhattans. The only thing he couldn’t do in the nursing home was enjoy a cigar.
On the morning of May 7, just after Dad finished physical therapy, Mom got a call from the nursing home saying that Mickey was unresponsive; he hadn’t woken up that morning. She went straight away.
She was with him in his room when he stopped breathing. His death was the most peaceful performance he ever gave.
I think he earned it.