David Dionne

I briefly looked in to the saying “things come in threes.” It is a phrase we go to when something is out of the ordinary, everyday routine of life. We often say this with a bit of fear and trembling if we are early in the set of three, or with a sense of “see, I knew it” if we are on the far side of the triple whammy. I looked at Wikipedia and at English Language and Usage on Stack Exchange to see how old the saying is and if there is any truth in it. Wikipedia had many flags of caution so I moved on and found the following on Stack Exchange:

“The appeal of the trinity in Christianity and other religions, the philosophical triad of thesis, antithesis and synthesis, and even the setup of many jokes seem to stem in part from a natural resonance with the number three. (A priest, a minister and a rabbi go into a bar and …, or a physicist, an engineer and a mathematician are asked how to … .)” http://english.stackexchange.com/questions/299868/death-comes-in-threes-origin

This has been a season of change and loss in my life and there is much emotion to sort out and contend with. In July, after the death of my father, the thought crossed my mind “do these things come in threes”? Since it was the first, I discounted the rule of threes.  Then the second death occurred and the thought appeared again accompanied by prayer that this saying is not true. But when the third death arrived, I actually hoped for some veracity to the saying. With the passing of three people I love, if the saying is true, that these things do come in threes, then I am finished with this season of loss. At least for now.  

My father passed away in July and my mother in October. Wedged between them, in September, was a gentleman who worked for us for a short time and his is the story I want to share now. I am sharing David’s story because I am not quite ready to write about my parents and because David’s story is the story of a small miracle and a big impact.

I only knew David for a few months and even my husband knew him only for a year and a half. Still, we both loved him.

We loved him for his unique brilliance and his unique communication style, which was one of a slow cadence for three or four words, followed by a hurried end to the sentence, often speaking with a sense of irony and self-deprecation. He thought of himself as a large man and often wore a size 42 jacket when in fact he was a size 38. He was the smartest man in the room but you never felt him speak down to anyone. He had a Master’s Degree and for a while in his life he taught at the associate’s level.

We loved him for his gratitude and his ability to champion others, his ability to give his best under difficult circumstances, always somewhat apologetic that what he was giving was not more. Later we found he was a family man, visiting a sister and her children every Sunday and an aunt at least once a week. Another trait to love in him. He was a caring and kind nephew and Uncle.

David happened to be teaching at a local college when things began to fall apart. He described a breakdown.  Whatever the circumstances, he walked away from his job and that meant he lost his apartment. On that day, he packed some belongings and walked away from everything and everyone.

He walked to the airport on a cold day in January, 2015 and spent a month sleeping in the airport garage during the night and staying warm inside during the day. He lost his identification. He lost everything.

After a month, he decided to begin to walk south. Heading to Florida he was able to walk ten or fifteen miles until it began snowing. This was the winter of 2015, the winter of record breaking snow.

David realized he could not go any further so he stepped off the road and was going to lie down to die. But I believe God had another plan because a police officer in a patrol car saw him lying in the snow bank and picked him up. In the emergency room, David was able to identify himself. Had he died, he would have been a John Doe, an unknown person lost to the cold winter.

He reported that they warmed him up and sent him to the rescue mission. And that is where my husband Randy met him. David had entered the disciple program and found a home at the Southern NH Rescue Mission. Every Saturday Randy ran a Bible study there. David asked questions, explored answers, and eventually made a decision to believe. Randy mentored him and they met every Tuesday night.

It was spring of 2016 when Randy suggested bringing David to work for Seniors Helping Seniors. He would continue to live at the rescue mission but come to work every day and manage our training program and quality assurance initiatives. It was an internship and a step towards life outside the mission. It would have been a full time job in January 2017.

David loved his job and it showed. He worked hard and was animated and thoughtful. He was always grateful and kind and caring. He was perfect for the job. At one point, just as my father had passed away, our partners were in Africa on a mission trip, and it was just Randy and David in the office, David said “Randy, I am at the epi-center of your business!” He was happy.

But by August David’s demeanor was different. He began to stare vacantly at his computer screen and his production slowed. He had to be encouraged when he had always been the encourager.

We were worried and, with much convincing, David went to the doctor. Things moved quickly after that visit. David had advanced colon and liver cancer. Ten days after diagnosis he underwent surgery to remove a tumor from his colon but the surgeon could not take any tumors without risking immediate death. David had endured advanced cancer quietly at his desk, never complaining while in severe pain.

David gave the director of the mission permission to reach out to the sister he had not seen in 18 months and his family came to be with him. We went to the ICU that night. David felt relief that his secrets were out. The family who had spent 18 months searching for him was at his side. His brother, a priest in North Carolina received the news and raced to the airport. Landing in Boston, he rented a car and drove to David’s side. Entering the room, he dropped to David’s side and held his hand. This brother turned to hug his other family members, then turned back and David passed away.

David was a family man, a brilliant, caring person who delighted in his return to work and to a life he could believe in. Going in to surgery he shared that he believed that he could rest in God’s love for him. David had faith that he would be ok no matter the outcome. David had peace.  That night, just after surgery in the ICU, David shared that Seniors Helping Seniors had been providing care to his aunt, the woman who he visited each week and had cared for. God saved him in a snow bank, sent him to a mission, and then brought him to work for the very people who had stepped in while he had stepped out. And in the end we all came together in love for David.

To listen to Judy’s radio program that was dedicated to David Dionne, click here.

Defining What Is and What Is Not Normal Aging Versus Dementia Symptoms

Judy Loubier, Executive Director of Senors Helping Seniors NH & ME, will be giving a presentation at Hackett Hill Center on September 21, from 6:00 to 8:00 p.m. on Understanding Normal Aging versus Dementia Symptoms. Judy will inform attendees about what is going on in the brain, the challenges of care, the best approaches to care, the latest research, and will answer any questions the audience has. This is a free event and open to the public. Refreshments will be served.

Special Presentation at Hackett Hill Center

Funny how opening a drawer can make your heart stop. Stumbling on a treasure when you are expecting dust and instead a rattling and a clacking of small items jostling in what was presumed to be an empty drawer, a drawer that has already been opened and emptied. I had pulled out the slightly yellowed camisoles, sorting some to keep, some to send off to Goodwill, some too old to give away and so thrown away. Though even throwing away an old camisole causes a pause because mom wore it in healthier days. But we cannot keep everything and so, into the trash bag with those.
Once emptied the dresser is moved to my home. It won’t fit in the smaller apartment that my mother will now occupy. Life is reduced now to one room. So, though not really my style, my mother’s dresser comes to my bedroom, replacing an older and cheaper bureau that I have used. This new, used one of my mother’s is better. In my mother’s words, it is “good furniture so don’t just throw it away.” As I get used to it I realize the benefit of my mother’s wisdom. More drawers, more space for my t-shirts, shorts, turtlenecks, lingerie.
After the dresser is moved into my room, the drawers are opened and I begin filling each drawer with my things. And then the sound and the discovery. The noise from the back of the left hand middle drawer that had been home to mom’s camisoles. It is buttons. Lots of buttons. Many are plain and typical and indistinct. Black, navy, brown, round. But a few stand out and I recognize them.
Downsizing, now called rightsizing, is a daunting task. At a quick glance, our parent’s things seem outdated and undesired. Though there are the obvious items that have been passed down from great-grandparents that will be saved. We know the stories and we share them with our children. A collection of Hummels sent from Germany to my grandmother while my father was stationed there during the Korean conflict. There was an expectation that Hummels will one day be valuable though now even originals are sold in consignment stores for $30. Another item, a porcelain bowl from Sweden, crossing the Atlantic three times. The first time my great-grandfather brought a wife, a baby and the bowl, arriving in America at the end of the nineteenth century. Then bowl and baby and great-grandfather went back to Sweden after that wife succumbed to influenza. Finally this family returned to American soil, new wife, husband, baby and bowl settling in Massachusetts, my father to be born 2 generations later, growing up assuming that a bowl that crossed the Atlantic three times must be worth something.
There are a few pieces of antique furniture that need to find a place in our home. Again, the stories that surround these pieces are too rich with our own history and so I can’t relinquish them just yet. My grandfather gave my grandmother the tea cart as a wedding gift in 1926 and I can recall just where it stood in the dining room of their home.
These are the things we expect to notice when rightsizing. Not buttons. But I know these buttons. I can close my eyes and see my mother in a blue dress. I can see her smile when her children tell her she looks beautiful. The gold round buttons with the swirling design stand out against the blue and she touches them at her wrist, pleased to be noticed by children who are captivated. Is this really mom?
I touch these buttons now. They sit on top of my new, hand-me-down dresser and I can’t move them. I want to see them each day because I can instantly see the healthy and active mom. The mom dressed up and going out. I don’t believe these buttons will get handed down but they are not going anywhere for a while.
It is this approach that creates a challenge for the sons and daughters who are helping to find a way to squeeze into smaller space or to clean out after a passing away. We have a need to touch their things, to read old cards, to look through each picture. This gives us an opportunity to reflect on the lives of those that were the start of our own story. It wasn’t that my mother was a secretary and raised 4 girls. It was that she was pretty and sometimes she dressed up and went out on a date with my father, and buttons somehow bring me back there.
We will right size and make decisions about donations of clothes to a homeless shelter, furniture to Goodwill or Habitat for Humanity, and pictures, jewelry and Hummels will be dispersed to various family members. Who knows about the buttons? My daughter visited recently from San Diego and admired the new dresser in my room that used to be her grandmother’s, then asked “What’s with the buttons mom?” I explained and she said, “Don’t get rid of those, okay?”