We lost Milt last night. His last words to me (on Friday) were "You're an angel." Because he found out I had been hitting his morphine button for him every 10 minutes for 4 hours when the nurse didn't show up. He'd been in pain all morning and no one had helped him except one of his sons had put a pillow under his lower back to ease that, but as soon as he left, the attendants pulled it out and wouldn't put it back. They said they'd bring him pain meds and never came back. When I got there at 430, they'd left the button dangling on the floor instead of where he could reach it, and his hands were too swollen to press the call button. Oh, and his vocal chords were removed a few years ago, so he couldn't tell them over the speaker what he needed.
I realized last night after his youngest called us to give us the news, that I had never had a chance to thank him for putting Jesse's little brother in his will (he had told me years ago that he wasn't going to and I said that was fine with us as long as he kept hanging out with us, because all we cared about was his company). He gave him 25% of his upper west side co-op. I'm astonished. I guess I didn't want him to think that's why I was going up there every day.
It's been a tough few weeks.