Gaston Fuller passed away last night around midnight. He was more than alone because, due to Alzheimers, he had forgotten who he was, had no idea where he was, had forgotten his native language and could only communicate in groans and squeals, He **** himself daily but could not even change his own diapers or clean himself. He is survived by his daughter, in Memphis; she said bury him or cremate him, just deal with it. He is survived by my wife's mother, if you can call her "Alive". She has been in a drunken psychotic episode for a few weeks and we had to take Gaston and place him in a nursing home because she would drag him from his hospital bed and beat him and then remember nothing about it. She kept him alive so his social security checks would continue so now there is cause for legitimate grief. He is survived by the VA, who said he wasn't ill enough to be tended properly, take two of these, and these and call us next week. When he nearly froze and insanguinated from holes made by a Chinese machine gun in Korea, I'll bet he thought the VA would take better care of him. Gaston and my wife's mother did not marry because that would reduce their sole means of support by one (Social Security). We helped them move here so that we could assist them and better tend them in their last years. Recently, it has become a crisis and we had to place Gaston in an assisted living home because , due to MIL's drinking and psychosis, his life was in danger and we had to separate the components to allow us to proceed with getting the batshit crazy mother in law dried out. Today is officially "The World Revolves Around Peggy Thrasher-Fuller" day and wails of grief and "What Am I going to do" and "I loved him so" will permeate the sound waves and I am going to miss my shooting match to referee the family circus. This is not a fit eulogy for a man that raised a family and served in combat, nor a fit ending....A man should know exactly who he is when he meet his maker. God, Should I put a name tag on him?