FEELING LOW

Two weeks ago I got an early morning call from the Veteran's Administration Hospital in Washington, D.C. My younger sister had been admitted, in critical condition. A veteran of WWII, she had been living in the Naval Retirement Home in Gulfport, MS., until Hurricane Katrina flooded the lower floors and knocked out the electricity. She was one of the group relocated to the Armed Forces Retirement Home in D.C. Each person could carry only two shopping bags of personal items. The rest was left behind in Mississippi.

She had been there about eight weeks when she was stricken with something, they weren't sure what. It was very stressful trying to help the doctors make medical decisions from 5,000 muiles away, especially since she hadn't signed a medical directive, indicating whether or not she wanted tubes, etc. She died the next day, so obviously I'm still dealing with the shock. I flew to St. Louis to be with my brother and other sister, and to attend the funeral. Lots of memories, and old friends who showed up to share their support. Seeing high school pals from the 1930s was an eye opener. Where did the years go? And standing in front of the house where I grew up made me wish I could sneak in and show my dauighter Martha where I used to sleep, and eat, and do my homework. Kinda makes you feel old. But, then, I am old, so what's the surprise?

Now I'm waiting for the package from Gulfport, with her personal items. Did she have a will? Nobody seems to know. There are details upon details, all of them new and strange, and all having to be dealt with, long-distance.

Folks, get your paperwork in order.