On September 18, 1922 a little boy was born to a mom who supported the family at home and a dad who supported them as a barn foreman for the streetcar company. At fourteen, he left home to find work. For a time he was a "powder monkey" setting dynamite charges in the mines in Washington state. No one would miss a wondering kid if anything went wrong. He was picked up while working a ranch in Minnesota by a recruiter for the Civilian Conservation Corp and did a stent with them. At eighteen, he married his sweetheart and, with a little son toddling around, he signed up to fight the Nazi’s. He and his wife raised their family, which included seeing their son join the Navy during the Vietnam war, only to come home and be killed in an automobile accident.

He was my grandpa and today would be his 90th birthday. After he retired from the United States Post Office, he and my grandmother had several good years. They rekindled their love and spent thousands of hours volunteering at the local hospital. When my grandmother's memory began to betray her. He tried to care for her. He pulled double duty as she forgot her favorite recipes, paced the house at night and wondered off during the day. Finally, his heart just simply broke. In trying to stop the heart attack, Doctors administered a drug that caused his kidney to fail. After sixty-five years, they would now have to face daily life without each other. He visited her every day until she passed away with peace and dignity thanks to Hospice and Medicare.

Soon after, he moved in with our family. Medicare made it possible for him to care for his kidneys at home. Medicare made it possible for him to spend eighteen months getting to know my daughter Olivia. Medicare made it possible for me to relive my favorite childhood memory – fishing with grandpa. Medicare made it possible for my mom to become the custodian of old family stories. And Medicare made it possible for him to meet his namesake; my daughter Bella. Medicare made it possible for him to sing lullabies to her and marvel in the fact that she not only has his name but his eyes too.

I bet you have a special story that Medicare made possible too. Look, the truth is, I don’t know how much my grandpa paid into Medicare and I don’t know how much his dialysis cost the American people. But I do know what it was worth. And if your special memory is anywhere near as special to you as mine is to me; I am proud that my contributions to Medicare helped give that to you.

As your next Congresswoman, on behalf of my grandpa’s birthday, I pledge to you that I will fight for the dignity that Medicare provides your loved one and that I will always remember that the value of your memories, your love and your time together is immeasurable.

Happy Birthday Papa, thank you for a life time of memories and thank you, America for making sure he had the dignity he so richly deserved when it mattered most.

-Heather



http://heatherbeaven.com