A special treat was getting to visit Atlantic Beach to get a glimpse of the ocean again and take in the invigorating salt air. She was wheeled around the boardwalk by her granddaughter, Kathryn McCluskey, who asked her if she were having a good time. Her reply was a classic: "Who wouldn't have a good time with all this attention!" Her life in Presbyterian House was comfortable but she was confined by congestive heart failure. She was forced to rely more and more on her oxygen tank, and was seen less frequently downstairs in the dining room. But her wit and spunk seemed undiminished. When Johnny, the maintenance man, asked her how she was doing, she said, "Well, I've been trying to behave myself but it's not easy!" Johnny was very protective of her and would tell about the time he discovered her on the floor of her apartment, apparently unconscious. He exclaimed, "Miss Eva! Are you hurt?" She opened her eyes and replied, "No, I've just been doing my exercises and I fell asleep!" She still ate an apple a day, and still liked to collect funny stories. Even in a retirement home she found humor, like the elderly man she noticed who would knock on the elevator door when he wanted to use it. And then wait patiently until it opened. In September of 1999, she suffered a fractured hip. Her surgeon explained the procedure he was going to perform and as he turned to leave the room, she came back with her last quip. "Doctor," she asked sweetly,"what degree do you have?" The operation was not successful. Before slipping into a coma, she told her daughter Florence that God had shown her where she was going to go, and it was a wonderfully beautiful place. She died on September 16, 1999, with her loved ones at her bedside.
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