Seeing Mr. Harbor

While in England I went to visit Mr. Harbor, my son-in-law's grandfather.  I've written about Mr. Harbor on this blog before: here, for example, here, or here, and over the years I have made a point of sending him cheerful cards and little notes to let him know he is not forgotten. I simply believe that elderly people (and anyone, really) enjoy getting personal handwritten mail: brightly stamped envelopes to open with care or eager haste, acknowledgement that someone thought of them and took the time to render the thought tangible. It's a small good  deed and an easy one, and a practice I recommend if you have any faraway acquaintances who don't get out very much and might be lonely.

Mr. Harbor is now ninety-six years old and recently moved into a care home near Oxford. His daughter visits him frequently, but I decided that while I was in the area, I should come by too.  I admit I had trepidations. There is something depressing about these facilities: the vaguely institutional smells, the muffled, mustered-up cheeriness, the frail and baffled residents.

Indeed, although this place was excellent, its ambiance immediately evoked memories of my mother's long stay in the one in California, which churned me up a bit. But I also remembered how happy she was when a friendly visitor appeared at her door. It was a special occasion to her, a bright moment in her dreary stretch of limbo days. So we opened the big double entry doors, walked down a corridor, and entered Mr. Harbor's room.

I had not expected him to look so small and fragile in his bed. He was pale and hollow-cheeked, his glasses were off, and his voice when he spoke was barely audible. His daughter whispered to me that he was sleepy and not as lucid as he had been the day before.

"Look who has come to see you," she told him. "All the way from California. Remember Cynthia?"

"Ah, yes," he said. "I do indeed."

And as I leaned in closer to him, he kissed my hand.It was such a touching and gentlemanly gesture. Had be been upright and in street clothes, he might well have drawn his cane and tipped his hat. He was dapper Mr. Harbor after all.

I've had a handful of moments in the course of my travels that were sufficiently wonderful in and of themselves to justify all the trouble, expense, and discomfort involved. This was one of them.