Got Dad home from the hospital yesterday. He’s doing very well. He slept great in his own bed – and he’s stronger every day. Doesn’t seem to be in much pain at all and his spirits are terrific. We go to the surgeon on Wednesday for a checkup and I’ll be able to get a lot of questions answered then.

Being in the house down here, driving back and forth to the hospital, all the memories of my wonderful mother are so strong. My mom was a very special lady. People who met her always remarked about how bright her eyes were. I think it’s because she had such an interest in everything around her . . . people, ideas . . .she was the kind of woman who could make friends anywhere. She’d be on a NYC bus and by the time she got off, she knew the life story of the person sitting next to her. She was always interested in what other people had to say. She found people fascinating. She wanted to hear their ideas about things. She loved to laugh.

She was very beautiful. Really. Everyone says that I’m sure about someone they loved. But Mom truly was. She looked like Ava Gardner. Mother had the best taste in clothes. I know so many of my friends hated to shop with their mothers. Or they hated whatever they mothers bought them for presents. I LOVED EVERYTHING. Mother had style. My friends and I used to love it when my parents were out of town and we could raid Mother’s closet. To this day, I try to always have something of my mother’s on me. I lost my sister a year after mom – and I wear something of hers every day as well.

Mother would have loved Clay. She was a sucker for a great voice and a handsome face. I remember less than a week before she passed away, I was watching tennis in her room while she was going in and out of consciousness. At one point, she woke up very clear-eyed, looked at the tv where Patrick Rafter was playing and exclaimed “Oh, he’s very good looking isn’t he?” Ummm, yeah, mom . . . very good looking!

This story is a weird one – and I’m hoping it translates in the telling. Dad, MrNan and I were laughing about it just last night. Sometimes funny things happen at the saddest moments in your life. I think there’s a reason for that.

Anyway, when Mom passed away, Dad really wanted all traces of illness from the house. He wanted the hospital bed to be taken out immediately. MrNan hadn’t gotten down to Florida yet. It was Dad, my sister and me. Now, Dad was in a lot of pain at this point physically. He had spinal stenosis and he was going to have an operation but couldn’t do it while Mom was sick. So he could barely walk without wincing in agony.

Anyway, we called the vendor who provided the bed and they said they would send someone out that day. When Angel arrived, he was alone. He said he usually worked with another partner, but today he was all by himself. He went into the bedroom to break down the bed. While he was working, we heard a loud curse . . . then we looked into the hall. Angel was crawling from the bedroom towards the kitchen crying in pain.

We rushed out to see what had happened. “Oh, my back, my back. Oh, I’m in such pain,” he cried. “What should we do?” we asked. “Help me up.”

So Sis and I tried. We put our arms around him, hooked under his arms and started to pull him up. He was shouting “Careful, careful . . . oh, that hurts so much” the whole time we’re pulling him up off the floor. Once we got him up – he was bent over in agony. We’re holding on to him – the phone starts ringing. My sister and l look at each other. One of us has got to let go . . . the other tries to hold Angel up.

My father verrrrry slowly, since he’s in pain himself, comes over pulling a chair for Angel to lean against. NOW . . . this is Florida. Have you seen how many Floridian houses are decorated? TILE EVERYWHERE. Keeps cool. Easy to clean. But still TILE!!!! Dad brings over a chair and places it near Angel, who leans on it. I let go. The chair starts sliding away. OMG – I look around. All the chairs in my parent’s house have rollers on them. Great! Easy to move around from one room to another. Rolls so easily along the tile floor. Glides like Brian Boitano on ice. Except when Angel is leaning against it trying to hold himself up . . . a slip-sliding chair rolling across the cool, easily cleaned tile isn’t very helpful.

Angel starts sliding and I run to the other side of the chair and push my body against the chair to stop it from slipping any more. Angel is crying “it hurts, it hurts” and he’s doubled-over hanging onto the chair with both hands, sweat pouring off his brow. I’m pushing in the opposite direction trying to keep the chair from moving any more. I’m looking down trying to keep the giggles I’m feeling starting to take over from rising up. I’m biting my cheek to stop them.

Sis is on phone – it’s the hospital bed vendor calling to see if the bed has been picked up. She’s telling the person on the phone what just happened. They say, “Angel shouldn’t have been on that job. He just got out of the hospital. He has a bad back.” She snaps “then you shouldn’t have sent him alone to our house.” “Alone???? Where’s his partner.” “How the hell should we know?” my sister counters. Meanwhile, I’m crying from holding back the laughter. My Dad is looking askance at what’s happening. And Angel continues “Oh it hurts so much, oh it hurts so much”.

Finally, my sister hangs up and decides to call 911. She tells them to send an ambulance to our house (it’s easy for them to find. They were just there the other day to take my mom into the hospice). She comes over and takes my place pushing against the chair that Angel is still leaning over – so I can go to the bathroom and release the hysteria that’s building up inside me.

The doorbell rings. Sis can’t answer the door because she’s holding the chair against Angel so he doesn’t go sliding into the patio. I can’t answer the door since I’m in the bathroom having hysterics. It takes Dad about 15 minutes to walk from the living room to the front door to let the paramedics in. Lo and behold, it was the same two lovely men who came to take my mom to hospice.

They’re like . . . “what the heck happened here again”. We tell them – the guy who came to pick up the hospital bed is now in the hallway in severe back pain and he’s leaning against a chair that my sister is holding back from sliding. O-kay.

They relieve my sister and lay Angel on the folding cot thing that will take him out to the ambulance in our driveway. Off they go. Angel is yelling to us – call the company and tell them to call my wife and let her know I’m going back to the hospital.

So, we call the vendor. We tell him to call Angel’s wife. We tell him to send 2 new people to our house to get the damn hospital bed out.

And we sit down in the living room and all 3 of us start laughing hysterically. When we finally stop laughing and crying from the release of the last 2 days. . . my Dad looks up and says “you just had to go out with a big laugh, didn’t you Bea”. And I think she did.

In honor of my mother, my father and my sister – here’s today’s Quote: And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years. Abraham Lincoln.