Here's the toughest part ...

     Move into a seniors residency, which we did in June 2019, and you soon face a stark reality:
     Many of our fellow residents don't have long to live.
     And it hurts to lose people. It especially hurts when we have gotten to be friends with them, or with their family members.
     It's never easy, and it's been especially difficult the past two weeks as we've lost three men and one woman.
     Two of the men had been close for years, part of a three-couples group that spent much time together, in and out of the facility. Those two men, sadly, visibly declined health-wise over the past couple of months and their passings came four  days apart.
     Because of shared beliefs and interests, I became a parttime member of that little group. So those losses, while not unexpected, were tough to take.
     But again, reality check. We had 43 deaths here last year; in the first 67 days of this year, the count is 10.
     Not unexpected, though. The great majority of our residents (and there are about 450) are at least 80; a significant number are near 90, and many are ailing. I know of three that are 100-plus. 
     And so, health is fragile in many cases. Mobility is limited. That's just the way it is; aging is a challenge. 
     Here's what else: The great majority are genuinely nice people, and they are doing the very best they can manage. There is a lot of determination, and from me, there is admiration for all.
     When someone dies, the Resident Services office posts their photo and an "in memorium" label above it. Each day, as you walk past the spots where those picture frames are posted, you learn to look for them. 
     Any day without one of those picture frames posted is a good day. There are, fortunately, a lot of good days here.
     Every resident -- everyone, really -- has his/her own story, and we cannot possibly tell all. But because of the respect for and the connections with these three men and their families, here is a closer look.
     To begin, common threads: (1) long marriages; (2) military service; (3) college educations; (4) long, steady careers; (5) families of which they were proud, as those family members were proud of their man.
     Joe Armstrong, 85, was married to Frankye for 64 years; Bill Starz, 92, was married to Janice for 68 years; Robert Brower, 95, was married to Joyce for 74 years. Wow.

Joe Armstrong and Frankye at our recent Valentine's Day gathering
(photo by Daniel Mancillas)

     Joe, right out of high school, was a U.S. Marine who served in the Korean Conflict and he was as proud a Marine as one could be (then again, all Marines are proud). At our events here, with military mentions, he was the first one on his feet at the sound of the Marine Hymn ("The Halls of Montezuma"). His memorial service ended with that hymn.
     Bill was a Navy man; Bob in the Army Air Corps during WW II. 
     Mr. Brower grew up in Queen City, Missouri, and attended Vanderbilt and Tarrant County College. For years and years, he was postal inspector, retiring in Fort Worth in 1978 from a significant post in that role here. 

Robert Brower

Bill Starz

     Mr. Armstrong was from Bowlegs, Oklahoma -- not making that up; he loved being from Bowlegs -- and, while he worked in the utilities business, he went to night school for more than a decade to finally earn a degree from University of Texas-Arlington. 
     Mr. Starz was from the New York City area -- his accent told you that -- and he went to Seton Hall and New York University. In Fort Worth, he retired as a vice-president at Alcon Laboratories, the huge eye-care device company based here.   
     The Browers have two children, three grandchildren, six great-grandchildren; the Armstrongs have three children, nine grands, seven great-grands; the Starzs had three children -- two died relatively young -- and have two grandkids.
     Because Joe's original family was a large one, the family that attended his memorial service must have numbered at least 50.
     Reading the Starz obit, we saw a heartbreaking aspect of his and Janice's lives -- one child died at age 12, another at 24. Which is why they were big supporters of the WARM Place, a grief support center for children in Fort Worth.
     There were many conversations and fun times with Joe and Bill, and they were well-liked in this facility. 
     We knew that Joe Armstrong had a sly, quiet sense of humor and he was more a listener than a talker, but when he contributed to a conversation, it was usually a thoughtful (and often funny) moment. Bill Starz could spin some stories and he was our "harmonica man" -- he loved entertaining with that instrument -- and he was the driving reason for the expansion of our weekly Thursday afternoon "Social Hour." 
     Did not know Robert Brower as well; he was wheelchair-bound and not vocal, and his room was in our skilled-nursing unit. But we had a couple of connections -- his wife lives on our floor; his son and daughter went to high schools in Louisiana, and both attended Louisiana Tech University.
      The son, a doctor, is a Bolton High  (Alexandria) and Tech graduate who roomed there with one of our old Woodlawn High buddies, and he now lives in Baton Rouge, so he is -- what else? -- an avid LSU fan. (And he knows what's happening with LSU teams). 
      The daughter, a Behrman High (New Orleans) grad, has been the main caretaker for her mother and father, with much help from her son (their grandson) Nick. She, too, is an LSU fan, but also partial to TCU.
      We are sad for them, but so appreciative that they have been here so often for their folks.
      Just as we felt for Frankye and Janice as they took such great care for the loves of their lives over the past couple of months.
      We are blessed here to have a chaplain, Tricia Baldwin, who works to make her pastoral reflections at memorial services so reflective, finding ancedotes -- often humorous -- through her talks with family members and friends.
      There is much support -- and love -- here among the residents and staff, and what we know is that as we age, we need to stay active, physically if at all possible, and mentally. So many activities and events here are geared toward that.
     We know, too, that losing people is part of our lives. "We are living in God's waiting room" is how one resident puts it.
     We see our mortality; we know that one day it will be us.
     So we reflect on where we are, and we certainly can identify with the often-used words of condolence, "sorry for your loss."