Frankie was 83 when I became involved in her care. She was legally blind. She spoke very little English, but she was fluent in French. She lived, without a mortgage, on a one acre plot of land in a very exclusive section of Miami Beach, but her house was literally falling down around her.
There was a two foot wide hole in the bathroom floor. Frankie knew where it was, so she didn't fall through, but I went right down and through, the first time I entered it. The roof leaked. The refrigerator didn't cool. Air conditioning was non-existent. The stove had quit in 1984. She was mal-nourished, and save for a Catholic priest who visited weekly, she was completely isolated.
Her husband had passed away perhaps 20 years earlier, and he had been a famous classical musician with a well known symphony orchestra. Frankie was just about the most well educated, nicest, sweetest, most unprepossessing client I've ever had.
What a delight, and what a monumental task at hand. I had to rehab her house from scratch and still maintain her residency in it.
Anyway, my husband spoke almost passable French, my doorman was Haitian, so between those two as interpreters we communicated and we formed a bond. It took me about 6 months, but we accomplished all our repairs. Each week I would bring Frankie along as far as socialization was concerned. We brought in a CNA who spoke French, and what an amazing transformation that was, as perhaps 25 years worth of conversations, never voiced, came gushing out of Frankie.
Then, I achieved my greatest triumph with Frankie and it was completely serendipitous. One of our other CNA's had to give up her little dog because her child was allergic to it. One day, I brought (that mutt) over to Frankie's house by accident. The dog never left her side. It was love at first sight. They were constant companions for the next three years. By the time Frankie passed away, I truly believe that dog spoke French.
It may be gratuitous, but I still smile every once in a while, knowing with absolute certainty, that during the last 4-5 years of Frankie's life, she felt as safe and as happy and as loved, as she probably had ever felt before. We only had one serious disagreement in all our time together. Frankie wanted to leave me her house and I insisted it be left to the Church (and it was).
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