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Nothing fires up the way back machine like sorting through my mother in law’s pictures and finding shots I’d never seen. Two parents, two kids, two dogs. We like two.
I am in a storage space in my house throwing away rings of gauze and squirt bottles of skin care and wound cleaner.
It’s a throwback moment with Grandy, my mother in law who passed two years ago.
If I had PTSD I would have been thrown back. Instead it was a sweet memory. But still harsh.
I was prepared for the sort of things that required reams of gauze and wound cleaner. As a former Army medic, then a dad of two active boys, I knew how to use a band-aid.
I was roommates with my in-laws who’d had a rough patch and been scammed and skinned. And that’s not a metaphor.
Some old people have thinner skin that a bump will rip open and release like a window shade rolling up their arm or leg. Grandy was one of them. If you’ve ever wondered what it looks like under your skin? Yikes.
All of the skin care and gauze was to prevent infection in the wounds they suffered. Father in law developed a pressure sore on his leg where the dog liked to lay instead of his lap. And I missed it.
Leg dog?
The home nurse said wounds like that never fully heal. She’s probably right if you don’t pack the hole regularly and change the bandage on time. That was my goal. It healed.
Finding pictures with the emergency stuff changed my gears, shifting from Grandy to my kids and wife gear. Luckily I have an automatic transmission. Or is it a traumatic transmission?
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The best part of the Sandwich Generation? Sharing how kids grew up. This was a growing moment for everyone.