The month started out as all others, following our usual routine with natural and expected concessions to the passage of time. There were highs and lows. A new grandchild was to be born. Andrew made his First Communion. Several tick bites had led to my being diagnosed with Lyme disease, easily treated with an extended course of antibiotics. We attended a piano recital in Schaghticoke, the Library Sale, Dave had the cars serviced at Bonnier's. While it was true that he had difficulty finding his golf stance, and his game was suffering, his doctors, including a neurologist, had conducted various tests, all of which yielded normal results. So we attributed his difficulties to normal aging; he would be eighty in a few months, so that was to be expected, we reasoned. At the time, we knew very few people who had reached that advanced age.
The status quo, which by the way is never static, seemed to be in a holding pattern, and we lived life as usual. But our lives were to change, suddenly and forever: It was Wednesday, June 17. Dave had gotten up that morning at 5:15, his usual time, and a few minutes earlier since the Thompsons had moved to Schaghticoke. He made his cup of instant coffee here, and some toast, and then he was off to his favorite job. He no longer had to stay the whole day as he had during the preschool years of all three boys. He would drive over, cross paths almost silently with their mother who was leaving for work, and then, in time, he would wake the kids, and see to their breakfast. He would sometimes eat there also, probably making himself eggs and more coffee and toast, but he usually came home for his real breakfast. I was never there so I never did get in on the routine.
He came home after the school bus had picked up the kids. It was a nice day. I had a package to mail, ebay stuff, and he drove it to the post office, as he liked to do. He came back home, and then went to Schaghticoke, to get bread probably. We used a lot back then. Now a single loaf lasts forever, and usually gets thrown out to the birds. After that, he may have made another trip to Stewart's, maybe to get milk. I used to comment he would buy one item at a time; he enjoyed the interaction with the clerks. Cashier Ruth will still ask about him. And he would stop at Stewart's and often join Don and some of his buddies having coffee there.
When he returned from his usual rounds, he tended to the pool, now open for the season. He was quite meticulous about maintaining the various levels, and so set out to Wiley's to get some more chlorine. And that was the moment of crisis. As usual, the pool supplies were stored in the outbuilding to the left of the main store. As Dave picked up the sack of chlorine and stepped backwards, his foot caught on the ledge of the exit doorway, and he fell backward. I'm not sure who witnessed his fall or if he cried out, but someone from Wiley's called the Rescue Squad. Andy Wiley called me. I called Rosemary so I could pick her up to drive Dave's car home. Dave was still there when we arrived, and the ambulance was preparing to load him on. I spoke to him. He was alert, said he was pretty sure he had not hit his head, but stressed that when he fell he "felt an awful shock," He seemed stunned by the severity of the shock to his body.
At the hospital probably St. Mary's, possibly Samaritan (I'd have to look it up to be certain.), they ran him through a battery of tests, including neurological function, found no damage or irregularities whatsoever, and sent him home the same day. All his tests were normal
That trip to Wiley's was the last time Dave drove his car. June 17, 2015. (In August of 2017, he entered the Vermont Veterans Home.
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