Peter (the pirate) in pieces with orders to boot.

Pete the Pirate was seventy-eight and had diabetes, NO left leg, complete kidney failure and what I’d call incontinence (upon occasion). Pete had four daughters who took good care of him, three I’d met, two regularly. He lived in an old age complex for senior citizens and he was one of my first clients.

It didn’t take me long to warm up to Pete, the pirate, because he reminded me of my dad and grandfather, he even looked like them and during the two months I assisted Pete, we became fairly close. His major complaint about “aides” was that they didn’t do anything to help him, so I moved his tables, painted his bathroom, gassed up and washed his car, shoveled the snow from around his car and put rock salt down any time he was going out. Mostly I just listened to Pete and helped him out as best I could.

He’d always use that car, huge Lincoln Touring car, to take his trips to various doctors, dentists, and once he and I used it (against all policy from Rural Metro, by the way) to go to his eye doctor appointment and when we finished he said, ”Wanna get some skelps?” Now, I didn’t know what “skelps” were but it turned out he meant scallops, which we had, deep fired if you can believe it. On the way back to his place we took his beloved Lincoln Town car through the Delta Sonic and passed by his old house, the one he’s told me he’d lived in for forty years. He said he’d lost his house when he went bankrupt because his tenants burnt down his various rental properties.

There were times when Pete tried my patients as he didn’t usually have the nicest way of asking for things. I guess he was probably used to giving orders his whole life, but we did have some nice hours together.

On Wednesday morning, about one AM, February 19^th, 2003 Pete the pirate was hauled off to the hospital in the middle of the night after returning home from yet another dialysis session, complaining of severe abdominal pain. My session with him for Wednesday morning was cancelled and as I arrived at his home I met his daughter Cindy who told me what had happened.

On Thursday, February 20^th, 2003, Rural Metro called me and said Pete had passed away. What the fuck, I never got a chance to say goodbye and Pete the Pirate is gone.

I’m glad Pete and I had a few good times together and I’m glad, even though I had to clean up way too much poop, to have been of some assistance, and all I can say is, “Fair well Pete, I hope you’re at peace”.

February 20^th, 2003

The day Pete the Pirate died.