MOLI VIEW™

A few years ago, when my father was alive and my parents both lived in their house, I made a shopping list, including a couple of things to pick up at the medical supply store in their town. My mother was recovering from a broken hip, and I was looking for a transfer bench to make it easier for her to get into their bathtub shower. Their bathroom was tiny, their house a modest design from the 1920s.

My father looked at the list, looked at me, then motioned for me to step out of the room with him. He whispered to me, "I've got something like this for her already, so cross it off your list." I asked him to show it to me, and he said, "It's under my bed."

We went to the bedroom, where he showed me a set of U-shaped railings to suction to the side of the tub. They would be useful, but he had underestimated the level of assistance my mother required. Then, as I started to open the box, my father stopped me. With a funny look in his eyes, he said, "Don't you open it; this is her anniversary present!" Their wedding anniversary was months away, but my mother needed those railings, grab bars, and much more, immediately.

We opened the box together, and the manly-man that my father was insisted on installing it himself. I went to get tools, and sat with him in the bathroom as he looked at the directions, looked at the hardware, and looked at the directions again. I could see how to install it immediately, but he made it very clear with a shout he thought I didn't know what I was doing. I left his side.

He stayed in the bathroom for quite a while, then I heard him come out, put the tools on the dining room table, and say loudly, "I can't get it to work!" He went into his room and shut the door. I took the tools, installed the bars in a jiffy, and put them away. I knocked on his door to say, "It should be okay, now, Dad."

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