My Life With Rita, The Love of My Life
The summer went on with little change, and I managed to have available help for Rita when I needed it. At other times I was the caretaker and did not dislike it. I was with my love who simply could not take care of herself. If I were in her condition and she was okay, she would have found a way to care for me. That, I believe, is what love is about. I remember the vows at our wedding. I had answered “I will” to the minister when he’d asked, “Wilt thou have this woman to be thou wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, so long as ye both shall live?” Rita also answered “I will” when asked the same question by the minister. I adhered to it, and I am sure she, too, would have done the same had the opportunity presented itself. There was no question in either of our minds; we would care for one another.
After Rita’s mother died her memory seemed to be affected more than in the past. She was more confused and began roaming in the neighborhood as well as the sacred land, the golf course. Neighbors began calling me, at times, she was unable to find her way home. She spoke well but could not always remember where her home was.
One neighbor mentioned to me, years later that she had asked: “Can your children could come out and play with me?”
When I left her alone at home I always advised her where I was going and left notes for her to refer to later if she could not remember the details of my absence. Normally, I was across the street playing golf. The notes were adequate for she seemed normal to me when I returned.
I had taken the precaution at home to keep her out of the laundry room as well as their two clothes closets by locking the doors. She loved to straighten out the clothes in the closets but sometimes she decided they needed washing. I found clothes thrown on the bed and wet clothes on the chest of drawers. What broke the camel’s back was when Iturned on the oven one night to
warm supper. My first mistake was not checking what was inside. I soon learned that there was something in it when smoke billowed out. She had put my new Arnold Palmer yellow long pants in it. She thought it was the dryer. In fact it did dry them. Only too much. There were two large flames burning in each leg. Being the good natured husband I am, I said nothing. Being innovative, and frugal, I cut the legs off and made short pants out of the remaining pants. The shorts served the purpose for years.
Something, however, had to be done. Either I was to become a caretaker and give up golf or seek outside help.
My wife had not been diagnosed as having Dementia although suspected. Soon thereafter, the doctors confirmed it was. They explained the word was created from two Latin words, which mean “away” and “mind” . It did not mean “crazy” although those not familiar with the disease may come to that conclusion. Two Magnetic Resonance Imagining examinations verified it was dementia. Thyroid disease which she had, could have contributed. But a brain tumor named menimgioma, had been removed a few years earlier, probably was the main cause.
I first found a day care for elders where she was enrolled immediately. There was a nurse on duty and other caretakers who attended to their patients while their kin continued other activities. Unfortunately, the day care service did not provide their services for too many months due to the lack of patients and rates charged. Actually I thought the services were very reasonable.
After closing the day care service, I contacted the day care nurse who had formed a good relationship with my wife. She was hired and was used on an hourly basis. The two acted more like mother and daughter the way they shopped together, ate together and enjoyed one another’s company. I was elated and continued my golfing habits. This continued for over a year until the nurse and her family took a long vacation.
I, however, found other ways to handle my wife’s illness. The first home away from home was a bad choice which lasted only a week. I later found a more experienced home for two years. Finally I brought her home where she lived over three years until Alzheimer’s most deadly disease, pneumonia, caused her death almost ten years after the diagnosis.
The following is a Valentine letter I wrote my beloved Rita four years after her passing:
Today, it is hard to realize that we have been exchanging Valentines for almost seven decades; decades, not years. Perhaps it could have been longer had we not we been seeing others when we casually met at a dance in 1938. However, my loving memories began one Sunday in 1946 when I returned from WWII . Remember, it was our first kiss after dinner at Toby’s Oak Grove in Lafayette . Time has flown so rapidly by, but my memories linger as if it was only yesterday.
Had the war not interrupted my education we may have met earlier but only the good Lord knows about that. Meanwhile, I would like to bring back memories of the days we were so happily married or together for the over fifty eight plus years. Recently, in an essay I compared my life with you as being in Shangria-la and the loving times we had together. Do you remember us as a loving couple who were not hesitant to let the world know of our happiness? I can not recall any arguments we had. Perhaps I was at fault a few times for which I am sorry. You were so nice I can only recall your tenderness and loving ways of accepting my faults.
Our many moves in life certainly enabled us to restart our love affair in so many locations. One could never say we were growing roots in any one area. Our hearts, it seemed, were always in Southwest Louisiana, our birthplace, with our mothers, fathers, kinfolks and friends. Combined with your loving smile, your disposition , love of acquaintances and wiliness’ to integrate with others, made my job of cultivating new friends and clients so rewarding. Without your assistance our stay in Australia would have been much harder on me. Your presentations and reactions to my clients and friends there were outstanding. I suspected you thought of returning home to the States near the end of our assignment, but your patience was well concealed. We had to finish the job and I knew you realized it. For that attitude I was most thankful.
Your life after our retirement, I know, was a hardship for you. You had been so thoughtful, willing and able to assist my brother during his illness. You nursed me with my health problems, not to mention the many months you spent with your ill mother and then your operation. Through it all you only handled it most graciously.. Even your problems with dementia never changed your character. Your attitude, even in the retirement home was loving. Remember, we were known as the ‘lovers’ each day as we strolled in from the yard for refreshments holding hands..Our love was evident to all who may have noticed us.
My life now has changed these last four years without you. I remain a so called golfer; at least two or three times a week. I love my Mondays learning to write essays. But I miss most is your not waiting for me at home and the dinner dates we had for the delicious Cajun food. I am not a recluse yet but the loss of you and so many friends has reduced my companionship greatly. Music we loved is everywhere at home; TV, CDs, records, the car and even the computer. Of course I only listen to our old favorites. You too are everywhere with me. I have you pictures in the bedroom, hall, and living room keeping your face always in my memory. Our weekly conversations in the cemetery are most pleasant, too, for it seems you are listening. Each visit makes my day for I express my love for you as I remember our years together. Do you remain my Valentine?? I hope so and won’t take no for an answer! I must confess in closing I bought a convertible automobile for my birthday. Remember you did not care for one. Now I know why, it does not ride as softly as a Cadillac and your hair might blow with the top down.. Therefore, Sweetie Pie, I agree, for the hundredth or more times, that you were certainly correct in your judgment. I should have known better!
On December 8, 1975 Rita and I packed our bags and clubs in Conroe, Texas and flew from Houston to Sydney, Australia arriving two days later. It was a long eighteen-hour flight and we were exhausted riding in the rear tourist section of our plane.
The Williams Brothers Manager there met us at the airport and drove us to Noah’s North Side Gardens Hotel where we were happy to rest and attend to our jet lag. He suggested we take a boat ride the next day, Sunday, around the beautiful Sydney Harbor and surrounding bays. He believed it would improve our health.
As a newcomer on the job, we readily took his advice and marveled at the beautiful Opera House. Its spread wings and the beautiful harbor in the warm and beautiful weather. The sights will always linger in our memories. It also helped the jet lag.
The three-room apartment in the hotel was our home for the next three months. Being just east of the old Sydney Bridge we could see, from our balcony, the Opera House on our right and the many red terracotta roofs of homes below.
The homes and the roofs reminded us so much of San Francisco.
Before leaving the States I had been warned of the long trip to Sydney and it was suggested that I accept the job and forgo a return trip back home for Christmas. Just before we were to move from Sydney to the pipeline’s new headquarters in Young, we decided to take a week’s vacation during Easter week.
We chose to visit The Great Barrier Reef located in the state of Queensland northeast of Sydney. It has the largest known deposit of coral in the world and extends in a northwest direction for more than 120 miles from a point opposite Mackway, Queensland into Torres Strait that separates Australia and New Guinea. The channel between the Australian Coast and the reef varies in width from about ten miles at the Northern extremity to about 150 miles in the South. It is a sheltered passage for ships. At low tides the reef is above the surface; at high tides it is often indicated by the turbulent state of the water.
We flew by commercial airline from Sydney north to Rockhampton then on a helicopter to Molle Island just South of Townsville. We chose Molle Island because they advertised it having a golf course. It was a sad awaking for when we attempted to play, we found that it not been mowed for a week or two. The golf clubs then became extra baggage!
We did enjoy the accommodations, not too ravenous but acceptable. Our rooms were individual huts built along the beach that reminded me of those old huts at home we had in the thirties and forties. Comfortable, but not fancy. The tropical plants and the large number of wild colorful birds and parrots over the entire island were beautiful.
To see the reef we took a boat from the island to a nearby observatory about ten miles off shore. It was amazing to see so many Aussies, both male and female in their bathing suits holding on to a rope attached to the rear of our boat. They were water skiing with their bare feet with the boat going full speed. Luckily we did not loose any of them. Rita would not consider that I join them!
The observatory had a glass-enclosed room about ten feet below the surface of the water where we were able to view so many fish and the beautiful coral reef. Another beautiful sight we entered into our memory book.
We also visited two adjacent islands while in the area. One lightly clad native knew how to make a bloody merry complete with nearby bottles of Tabasco Sauce on the bar. It was made in England, of course, but tasted like the real stuff, so we used it for sweetening our drinks.
For more than fifty-eight years I lived with the love of my life, my wife, Rita Leona Larcade Booksh. Those years, I believe, were my time in heaven. She was the smiling will behind my working life, which brought us into so many wonderful places of this magnificent world. She was the will behind the man and believed her man was making the best decisions and providing the best for their marriage during his working life. She seldom disagreed with my decisions and thoughts. I would have not changed our way of life for anything. I may have changed one move, but then we would have missed an opportunity for an exciting assignment overseas.
Oh, how I loved her! How beautiful she was! Yet, what made her so lovely? Was it something that could be named and analyzed? No, I don’t believe it is possible. Perhaps the Lord, using simple lines and with one stroke drew an arc around her instilling the magical beauty, beautiful brunette hair, brown eyes, a creamy complexion, a wonderful personality, and a pleasing temperament woven together with a smile for everyone.
I wish to summarize the many years of married life and how Rita was able to care for me, her aged mother, my brother and in later years how I took care of her when she was afflicted with a dreaded disease. We, the doctors and I, searched for medicines to help her. There were few then and I do not believe the situation has changed. We used only, what I called, “experimental medicines” to battle her problem. Her pain may have been eased, but she was not cured. Following is my attempt to narrate some of the details of our life together. I hope it will make pleasant reading for the many moves we we made to parts of the world could have been taxing for some. However, our life together was lovely with Rita, my understanding partner.
Rita was a native of Rayne, Louisiana, having been born in 1922 in neighboring Lafayette Parish where her father, William, was a farmer. I do not believe she would have ever enjoyed farm life. When I met her twenty-four years later, she was afraid of, or disliked farm animals. In their fenced backyard in Rayne, her father had a cow, a horse, and a barn. She had no desire to open the gate and get near the barn or either animal. She told me once: “The animals are for my father and brother to take care of. I have no desire to be near them.”
Boy meets girl after WWII. It’s love at first sight, then marries her after graduating from college as a Civil Engineer. He obtains his knowledge as a local engineer in the natural gas business then takes his pretty wife on a working tour through the States and part of world before they retire and settle down in South Louisiana in 1985, their home State. It was an exciting life for the two who were able to travel having no children.
Rita was a local girl from nearby Rayne, LA while Jim was from Lafayette, LA only a short 20 miles away. He accounts for his six decade career in the natural gas business around the world with his wife Rita Larcade Booksh, the daughter of a prominent Rayne family and a former Rice Festival Queen in nearby Crowley, Louisiana.
Booksh will serve the future anthropologists picking at the ruins dangerous epoch of western civilization. His paean to love, life, work and golf in that order. Resonates honesty and humility. It is about the accumulation of friendships of others and years of their inexorable compatibility, but more than all beyond the grim destination a life’s memoir must necessarily arrive at—Rita’s descended of Alzheimer’s disease with her eight year is summarized in 150 pages of the memoir whose contents would assist any family who knows others with dementia. My Rita died in2005. My life with Rita’s a simple, sweet tribute—boy meets girl and loves her for 58 years.
