Tag: Bob Lanaghan

Those of Us Who Remain: Notes from The Shrine, 8.31.2024

~ johnbrandall

I was refreshing myself on the names of some of the Dammert residents. I forgot one lady's name. Crikey. I want to call her Loretta but that's not right. I know Loretta. And I know this woman whose name I forgot. She's also an OG, been here since the beginning. Speaks to me sometimes. She has once or twice asked me, "Are you one of mine?" Lorraine? No, not quite. I sat in the Bird Room one time and listened to her try to get a few other ladies interested in making a K-Mart run. "The prices are very reasonable," she said. "It's just down the road." Actually, there did used to be a K-Mart just down the road.

More than once this woman has insisted that I must be in school. "So you're in school, then?" she'd say. And I'd say no, I'm past that. "Really?" she would say, raising an eyebrow, giving me a very skeptical look. She is the only person who has ever labeled me as being "successful." And she has told me that I "look good." Early on she stopped me and asked me, "Do you know who I am?" I said no. "Well, you will," she said, "and watch out because they'll try to get you in on one of their schemes." Now I cannot remember her name and that vexes me.*

The storms of life. An excellent Randy Travis album. And a way to describe what the last few years have felt like. I know I've got it pretty good. But I'm still just a tumbleweed. Driftwood. A passing satellite. Whatever that was that flew over us at camp on the last night outside Tijuana, a chunk of space junk falling out of orbit. Smoking, burning, succumbing to gravity, soon to be wreckage...


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Notes from The Shrine: The Return of Bob (1.8.25)

~ johnbrandall

Everyone would like some popcorn.
—Bob

Bob walked into the main Dammert lunch room today. He hasn’t been eating in this dining room for a couple of months. It’s me, Bob, Lester, and Dad all at one table. Old times and new.

The snow brightens the room. They don’t seem to be offering Bob any coffee. He was sitting in here before we were. They said he just wandered in and sat down.

Brad got me some coffee. Bob is singing. LaDosha comes in, asks about Bob, goes out.

I have a feeling Bob wandered in because of how bright it is in this room. He can’t see very well but he might have been attracted to the light.

Dirk comes in, goes out. Bob mumbles clearly about coffee. He is missing it.

“How about a couple of coffee cups?” he says. “Isn’t there a week….”

Brad is taking the drinks cart around. A wheel squeaks.

“Coffee,” Bob says. “Please bring some coffee.”

There’s a new lady. She says to the not-so-new woman next to her, “I’m a wreck.” The other lady says, “No you’re not.”

“That’s cold,” says Bob. “For the kids…”


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Notes from the Shrine, 9.18.2024: One for Jack

~ johnbrandall

Jack died, while I was away. It's been seventeen days since I've been here. Carol also died, Carol Ann Baltosciewicz, but the name alone does not tell me who that is, was.

My dad is in bed. He was in the bathroom when I got here. Dirk was helping him with his business in there.

Jack was 94. He was a presence here. His straining voice. His love for his wife, Margaret, who lives in the apartment wing of the retirement community. They were married 65 years. Don't you go through that door now, Jack. I can hear one or more CNAs telling him that in the lunchroom. Don't you go through that door. But he would. The back door that led to the main dining hall, where he knew his wife would be eating.

I'm in my dad's room on B Hall. Rudy catches Tony getting into something he shouldn't and intervenes. Tony flintstones himself out of his room, and out of B hall, headed to the Bird Room or maybe an early lunch. An OG, Tony has always carried himself with such a pleasant, warm vibe but I guess we all get into a little trouble now and then.

Physical therapist Stephanie is sitting at one of the tables on B hall. Making notes. It's Stephanie, and Brad, who I remember taking Jack into the break room so he could play the piano that sits in there otherwise untouched. Jack played the piano well, all the way to the end. He had a full, white head of hair. He managed still to somehow look so tanned. He got outside here and there, must have. I only remember seeing him out in the courtyard a couple of times. He would try to talk, get agitated. Then Margaret would usher him inside...


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