Faulkner
Member
I was just finishing up supper last evening and helping my wife with the dishes when my cell phone rang. I walked over and picked up the phone and glanced at the caller ID and saw the call was from the Sheriff's Office dispatch.
"Faulkner" I answered.
"Hey, it's Fran," one of our most experienced dispatchers, "sorry to bother you on your day off but we have a situation."
I looked over at my wife and she went back to the dishes, a cop’s wife just knows.
"Okay, what's up?"
"I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you Faulkner, I know he was your neighbor, but we have a deputy on the scene at Frank Fletcher's house. Looks like he committed suicide. The coroner is on the way but a family member is asking for you specifically."
My shoulders sagged a bit, "okay, I can be there in about 15 minutes."
Before Fran hung up she asked, "How is Mrs. Faulkner doing? I've not seen her out since the Christmas party."
"She's good, but she likes to stay close to the fireplace when it's cold out. Thanks, I'll tell her you asked about her."
I hung up and turned and my wife who was wiping her hands on a dish towel and looking at me with a raised eyebrow and questioning look. Again, it's a cop's wife thing.
"Looks like Frank Fletcher is gone, I'm sorry, but they're asking for me. You want to go?"
She came over and embraced me and started crying. After a bit she said, "no, I don't think so."
Frank had been our neighbor for over 20 years. We were not quite social friends, but more than acquaintances. We're neighbors who have helped each other from time to time and who's kids went to the same school and played ball at the same ballpark in town. I would let Frank run his beagles on my property chasing cottontails, and I've deer hunted in his woods a time or two. A few years back when I took our family to Alaska for a couple of weeks, Frank took care of our animals. I've done the same for him, doing what good neighbors do.
Five years ago, things changed. Frank, who was in his mid 40's then, was diagnosed with Parkinson's. After the diagnosis, Frank learned that my wife has Parkinson's and that she had DBS (direct brain stimulation) surgery. I was out on my tractor one day when I saw Frank's pickup come up the driveway. I pulled up and shut down the tractor, got off to greet him and we shook hands.
"Hey Frank, what's up?"
He had a serious look to him. "I'm sorry Faulkner, but can I ask you a personal question? A very personal question."
“Okay, I suppose so,” I answered.
He was fidgety and obviously uncomfortable. “I don’t really want to get into your personal business and if you don’t want to talk about it just say so and I’ll leave, no hard feelings.”
“Okay Frank, what’s the problem.”
At this point his eyes welled up bit. You see, Frank comes from self reliant country folk stock. His family goes back several generations of Ozark mountain people who, out of necessity, had to deal with their own problems and don’t pry into other’s problems. What he was about to ask didn’t come easy to him.
“I just got diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I heard that Mrs. Faulkner was too. I don’t mean to pry, but this has all been a shock and I don’t really know who to talk to.”
I gave him a slight smile and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Frank, come on up to the house and let’s talk around some iced tea. It’s not a sensitive subject for us, we’ll be glad to talk to you.”
He asked, “even Mrs. Faulkner? I don’t want to offend her.”
“Yep,” I replied, “it won’t be a problem.”
We went in and he broke the news to my wife about his diagnosis. At that time, five years ago, we’d already been dealing with her diagnosis for about seven years. Like Frank, she was diagnosed with onset Parkinson’s in her early 40’s, and as noted she had already endured DBS surgery. We talked and answered questions and talked some more for at least a couple of hours. He cried some and she cried some, and I went and fetched more iced tea and a dry dish towel.
At one point Frank commented, addressing my wife, “I feel bad that I never knew you had Parkinson’s. I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”
My wife chuckled at that. “Frank, it’s not a secret, but I don’t exactly have a bumper sticker on the car that says “Parkinson’s Patient On Board” either. I have good days and not so good days. I still love riding on the Harley behind Faulkner and we just plan accordingly. We seldom miss a church service and never miss a chance to babysit our grandkids. We continue to do what I can as long as I can.”
After our visit and Frank was leaving my wife gave him a big hug. I think that hug sealed a bond between them. After that visit, Frank would stop by and they would talk and compare notes about medication and share updates on what the neurologist reported at the last doctor’s visit. Who the good doctors where and who wasn’t so good, things like that. Frank’s wife would also come by and visit with my wife to try and get insights on what to expect. I think the visits and interaction with Frank and his wife were mutually beneficial and our neighbors did indeed become our friends.
As I write this early Sunday morning I’m winding down after being on the scene most of the night. Sometimes you do what you have to do even when you don’t really want to do it. Hopefully my being there was beneficial, I think it was. Even so, as I’m ready to go to bed and hug my wife two thoughts come to mind; First, I’m glad I discouraged my sons from a career in law enforcement and, second, Parkinson’s is a cruel, cruel disease.
"Faulkner" I answered.
"Hey, it's Fran," one of our most experienced dispatchers, "sorry to bother you on your day off but we have a situation."
I looked over at my wife and she went back to the dishes, a cop’s wife just knows.
"Okay, what's up?"
"I'm sorry to be the one to break it to you Faulkner, I know he was your neighbor, but we have a deputy on the scene at Frank Fletcher's house. Looks like he committed suicide. The coroner is on the way but a family member is asking for you specifically."
My shoulders sagged a bit, "okay, I can be there in about 15 minutes."
Before Fran hung up she asked, "How is Mrs. Faulkner doing? I've not seen her out since the Christmas party."
"She's good, but she likes to stay close to the fireplace when it's cold out. Thanks, I'll tell her you asked about her."
I hung up and turned and my wife who was wiping her hands on a dish towel and looking at me with a raised eyebrow and questioning look. Again, it's a cop's wife thing.
"Looks like Frank Fletcher is gone, I'm sorry, but they're asking for me. You want to go?"
She came over and embraced me and started crying. After a bit she said, "no, I don't think so."
Frank had been our neighbor for over 20 years. We were not quite social friends, but more than acquaintances. We're neighbors who have helped each other from time to time and who's kids went to the same school and played ball at the same ballpark in town. I would let Frank run his beagles on my property chasing cottontails, and I've deer hunted in his woods a time or two. A few years back when I took our family to Alaska for a couple of weeks, Frank took care of our animals. I've done the same for him, doing what good neighbors do.
Five years ago, things changed. Frank, who was in his mid 40's then, was diagnosed with Parkinson's. After the diagnosis, Frank learned that my wife has Parkinson's and that she had DBS (direct brain stimulation) surgery. I was out on my tractor one day when I saw Frank's pickup come up the driveway. I pulled up and shut down the tractor, got off to greet him and we shook hands.
"Hey Frank, what's up?"
He had a serious look to him. "I'm sorry Faulkner, but can I ask you a personal question? A very personal question."
“Okay, I suppose so,” I answered.
He was fidgety and obviously uncomfortable. “I don’t really want to get into your personal business and if you don’t want to talk about it just say so and I’ll leave, no hard feelings.”
“Okay Frank, what’s the problem.”
At this point his eyes welled up bit. You see, Frank comes from self reliant country folk stock. His family goes back several generations of Ozark mountain people who, out of necessity, had to deal with their own problems and don’t pry into other’s problems. What he was about to ask didn’t come easy to him.
“I just got diagnosed with Parkinson’s. I heard that Mrs. Faulkner was too. I don’t mean to pry, but this has all been a shock and I don’t really know who to talk to.”
I gave him a slight smile and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Frank, come on up to the house and let’s talk around some iced tea. It’s not a sensitive subject for us, we’ll be glad to talk to you.”
He asked, “even Mrs. Faulkner? I don’t want to offend her.”
“Yep,” I replied, “it won’t be a problem.”
We went in and he broke the news to my wife about his diagnosis. At that time, five years ago, we’d already been dealing with her diagnosis for about seven years. Like Frank, she was diagnosed with onset Parkinson’s in her early 40’s, and as noted she had already endured DBS surgery. We talked and answered questions and talked some more for at least a couple of hours. He cried some and she cried some, and I went and fetched more iced tea and a dry dish towel.
At one point Frank commented, addressing my wife, “I feel bad that I never knew you had Parkinson’s. I guess I just wasn’t paying attention.”
My wife chuckled at that. “Frank, it’s not a secret, but I don’t exactly have a bumper sticker on the car that says “Parkinson’s Patient On Board” either. I have good days and not so good days. I still love riding on the Harley behind Faulkner and we just plan accordingly. We seldom miss a church service and never miss a chance to babysit our grandkids. We continue to do what I can as long as I can.”
After our visit and Frank was leaving my wife gave him a big hug. I think that hug sealed a bond between them. After that visit, Frank would stop by and they would talk and compare notes about medication and share updates on what the neurologist reported at the last doctor’s visit. Who the good doctors where and who wasn’t so good, things like that. Frank’s wife would also come by and visit with my wife to try and get insights on what to expect. I think the visits and interaction with Frank and his wife were mutually beneficial and our neighbors did indeed become our friends.
As I write this early Sunday morning I’m winding down after being on the scene most of the night. Sometimes you do what you have to do even when you don’t really want to do it. Hopefully my being there was beneficial, I think it was. Even so, as I’m ready to go to bed and hug my wife two thoughts come to mind; First, I’m glad I discouraged my sons from a career in law enforcement and, second, Parkinson’s is a cruel, cruel disease.
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