the birdcage

Francis was 96 years old when he fell in his house. They placed him in a convalescent hospital, which he named “The Birdcage.” Staff said he had to gain back his strength, and once he did, they still didn’t want him to leave. But Francis had his champions and those neighborhood women fought to bring Francis home. He’d often joke about how he’d “flown the coop” and how he was never going back.

Caring for the elderly can be a fulltime job, but Francis was fiercely independent. Neighbors joined together and delivered his meal each evening. As his eyesight dimmed and he could no longer read the newspaper, he’d listen to the radio. Occasionally he’d turn on his TV, which provided a snowy screen, but to someone with limited eyesight, he thought his rabbit ears were working just fine.

Francis was married for 56 years the first time. He never dreamed he’d find love again, but at 97 years old, Francis fell in love. Each day, he’d make his way to the laundry room and there his arthritic hands would slowly iron his shirt and trousers. Nobody can remember a time when Francis wasn’t perfectly dressed – ever.

Francis died this week at 98 years old. Quick in mind and generous of spirit, he was the quintessential gentleman. As we stood at his grave, I could not help but smile as I thought to myself, he’s really flown the coop this time.

©2007