An Absent Mind(34)

Michael drove us back to Oakland Avenue and pulled into his driveway. I didn’t protest, but a feeling of angst gripped me as he came around to open my door. It was all I could do to get out of the car. But mercifully, he led me past his house and directly to my front door. I put the key in the lock and barely turned around to thank him. It was eleven o’clock. I didn’t sleep the whole night.

The phone rang at nine the next morning. It was Michael. He asked me to come over to watch a movie that night. I found myself quickly accepting, while at the same time wondering why. I, of course, knew the answer. I am practically a widow—God, I hate that word—lonely, sad, and desperate for company. As I showered before going to see Saul, a wave of guilt practically buckled my knees. How could I do this? How could I betray Saul? But I did go, and not only that, I had a good time—until Michael tried to kiss me good night. What was he thinking, for Christ’s sake? I may be in a one-way relationship, but I’m still married. Or am I?





Joey





Day 589—Going, Going, Gone


I went to see Dad today. He was sitting in his wheelchair, his hands curled up, his head tilted to the side. I gave him my “Yo, Pops” greeting, but he didn’t budge.

I looked down at him, his neck slouching against his chest, his lower lids bulging out, seemingly propping up his closed eyes. For the first time, it really hit me. He’s a dead man. Maybe not officially, but a dead man nonetheless.

Jesus Christ! How could that have happened so quickly? Well, in retrospect, I guess it wasn’t so fast. He’s been in that place for almost two years.

I remember when he first got there, he was so much better than the others that I just figured it would always be like that. Now he’s one of them. Well, maybe not. Because my best guess is the ones who were like he is today are probably six feet under.

I leaned over him and whispered in his ear. “Pops, I know you think I’m a zippo. I can’t help what you believe. But let me assure you that I can take care of everything. I’m up to it. I really am. Just let go. I don’t know if you’re suffering, but even if you’re not, this can’t be any picnic. So why don’t you just give it up and go. I’ll take care of Mom and Florence.”

He didn’t open his eyes or give me any indication he’d heard me. But that wouldn’t be surprising, even if he weren’t sick. He’s always figured he’s the only one who can handle anything. It’s like he’s the last man who can make sense of this world.

“Well, Pops,” I said, “I hate to tell you, but that’s not the way it is anymore, in case you haven’t noticed. So just give it up for everybody’s sake—Mom’s, Florence’s, yours—and yeah, mine, too. We don’t want to keep coming here and seeing you like this. We want to remember you the way you were.

“Do you recall how pissed we all were that your friend Christopher Rymond never once came to see you after you got sick? No, I guess you don’t. Well, I bumped into him at a restaurant last week, and you know what he told me? He said he hadn’t been around to see you because he wanted to remember you the way you were, not the way you most surely are now.

“I feel the same. But I have no choice. You’re my father. So I show up. Maybe not often, but as much as I can, given how pissed I am about the state you’re in. Anyway, it’s really tough watching you like this. So please, put all of us out of our misery. Please!”





Monique





Day 624—Our Fiftieth


Today was our fiftieth anniversary. Not quite what I envisioned when I walked down the aisle. Well, at least we got this far, which is more than a lot of people.

Saul was too far gone to remember the date. In fact, he couldn’t even understand what a wedding anniversary is. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop me from inviting the family over to room 315 at Manoir Laurier for a celebration. Don’t ask me why I did it. I know it sounds dumb. But I felt if I didn’t, I would be betraying, or maybe the right word is belittling, our union. And besides, what could be the downside? I’ve given up caring what people think. It’s too late for that.

Florence made a cake with two candles on it. The pink words on the icing just said Monique and Saul, Fifty Years. We all sat around—well, Florence and Bernie, Joey and I. Florence decided that she just couldn’t bring the kids around anymore. She said it was giving them nightmares. And I don’t blame her. I’m immune to it all now, and besides, I have to be there. But they don’t, and I agree with her decision.

I got there early and helped the attendant dress Saul. I wasn’t going to make him wear a suit and parade him around, but I did want to make sure he had on a clean shirt and sweater.

Once he was dressed, I tied the plastic bib around his neck and began to feed him. It’s a long and tedious process because he doesn’t eat on his own anymore and hasn’t for months. Just getting him to open his mouth and swallow—well, it can take forever. At least he doesn’t have solid foods anymore, so we don’t have to worry about him choking.

I usually get there to give him lunch and go back around five o’clock to feed him dinner. On the days that I can’t or don’t, Florence goes instead.

By the time the others arrived, Saul was sleeping again. I gently shook him, and he slowly opened his eyes. Florence lit the candles and held the cake in front of us. Bernie snapped a few photos with his new camera. I said, “Come on, Saul, we’ll each blow out a candle.” But he didn’t respond. So I blew out the two candles and with that, I felt, what was left of our marriage.