If life hands you a lemon, make lemonade.
--William Melanson (1930-2003)
If there ever was anyone who owned that quote, it was Uncle Billy. Until I was eighteen from before I was able to remember, my family always made an annual trip to New Brunswick to visit relatives in the area my parents grew up. Usually it was during the summer, but once or twice the trip was made during Christmas time.
One of the visits while there I looked forward to was the visit to Uncle Billy (who was actually my great-uncle or my father's uncle). It was partly because he was willing to speak English, but it was mostly a welcoming warmth that told us children that we could be part of the adult conversation at any time. We were there, and Billy wasn't going to ignore us.
Billy put the lemonade quote on the front page of the family tree he had assembled. He not only worked on the Melanson family tree, but also worked on the family trees of his brothers-in-law. It was a penetrating quote because Billy sat in a wheel chair with muscular dystrophy.
When in Canada, we usually stayed at my maternal grandfather's cottage along the Buctouche River. And some summers, we would winch Billy into the car or van, so that Billy could spend a day at the cottage.
It seemed Billy loved to move around. There is a picture of Billy as a young child in a small wagon with a dog harnessed to it. Billy had just a few years of walking before the disease made it too difficult. The dog would pull Billy to school in either the wagon or a sled in the winter (this was long before special education). I've been told stories of his "golf cart" and how he ranged as far north as St-Antoine from his home in Irishtown (almost ten miles), trusting that his batteries would hold out.
When it became too difficult for his mother to take care of him, he choose to move to the nursing home where his brother Frank (who also had muscular dystrophy) stayed in, rather than choose one closer to his relatives (note: the chronology is hazy for me here, there were several homes, but the point is that when he had the option, he choose to stay close to Frank while his brother was still alive). And so when Billy moved to Fredericton, because the ride was several hours long, sometimes the trip was a family option, but I always choose to make the ride with my father.
It was during one of those trips that I saw his faith and one the the hardships that Billy faced. We had only been there for an hour or so, when Billy told us that he was to attend Mass. At the home he was in, he was not able receive the Blessed Sacrament on a weekly basis, and so he was not willing to miss any opportunity to attend Mass. Billy was not one to wear his faith on his sleeve, rather he lived his faith.
The last time I saw Billy was a couple of years ago when I made the trip up north on my own. It was during a nursing strike (they always seem to have nursing strikes up there), and when I got to Fredericton, I had found out that because Billy was high maintenance as far as nursing care, they had moved him 30 miles north to Stanley. The poor frazzled supervising nurse gave me directions and apologized because Billy was upset by the move. I was pretty frazzled myself, because I finally found the new nursing home after two hours, after stopping several times for directions. It turned out to be a nice place. Billy, as usual, was outdoors enjoying the sun. After I passed on the apologies of the supervising nurse, Billy explained that he was upset because of the unknown and because of the change. It was quite an operation to move him from bed to the wheelchair and then back again at night. And then there is always the problem of scheduling time for a bowel movement. There is always a learning curve for nurses. It turned out that this nursing staff was a class act, and his worries turned out to be unfounded.
It ain't easy when you're that dependant. Perhaps that's why Billy always took advantage of the independance his electric wheelchair afforded him. My visit ended just before the evening meal. Billy preferred to eat his meal in bed, because the nursing schedule is just too crowded after dinner for them to get him to bed at a reasonable time.
Since his brother Frank had died several years earlier, he was petitioning to be moved to a home closer to his relatives (the long trip made visits infrequent). He was able to move to Shediac, and he was lucky enough to get a roommate he could converse with.
Billy was very intelligent and able conversationalist. He kept up with current events in politics, sports and family. And though it became increasingly difficult (because of lack of muscle strength), he still composed letters and enjoyed receiving them. And though his heart was physically weak, his heart was spiritually strong. And so this week, I remember Fr. Rob's blog entry on Needing the Needy: "This is ultimately the contribution of the dependent to the rest of us: they teach us how to love, and be loved."
Early this week, my mother told me, "Billy is sick." I'm not often informed of family illnesses but I'm begining to detect a pattern here. Wednesday morning, Billy "shuffled off this mortal coil." Requiescat in pace.