An Absent Mind(39)

To be frank with you, Mrs. Reimer’s passing didn’t come as a great surprise. I had seen her several times since her husband was diagnosed. It’s been probably a little more than six years now, to the best of my memory, but without the file in front of me, I can’t be exactly sure. She appeared to be a strong woman, certainly stronger than most spouses I encounter. But with her heart condition and unwillingness to allow Mr. Reimer to spend a few hours a day at the Schaffer Centre so she could get some well-deserved time off, coupled with her adamant refusal to join any caregiver support groups—well, in my mind, it could not really have ended much differently.

Mr. Reimer is definitely in the last stage of the disease. His reflexes are almost non-existent, his muscles completely rigid now, and his swallowing quite labored. As I stated before, he may comprehend the odd snippet of conversation, but that’s something that we’ll never know, given his inability to communicate logically at this point.

I checked the chart while I was there, and the “Do not resuscitate” and “No heroic measures” orders were still there. Since the children were present, I wanted to get a quick confirmation that this was still their choice. Both the daughter and her brother reaffirmed their decision. That’s the hardest part of my practice, watching the suffering the family goes through toward the end. But I believe it’s coupled with relief, both for themselves and the patient, that it’s almost over.





Florence





Day 685—It’s Time


It’s been two weeks since Mother’s funeral. Even though we’re Jewish, I would say we’re probably more culturally Jewish than religious. Shiva lasted only two days, instead of the customary seven. If you’re unfamiliar with the practice of sitting shiva, it’s a mourning period when the immediate family receives condolences at home, and when friends and family gather for prayers.

Part of the reason we cut it short is that I can’t leave Father alone for too long because of his condition, which, incidentally, has deteriorated since Mother died. If it didn’t fly in the face of logic, I would swear he knows exactly what happened.

Regardless, he is really in bad shape now. Bad enough that as much as I hated Joey for repeating over the last few months that he hoped Father would die, that’s how I feel now.

I am absolutely drained from all this. It’s not about me, and if it meant my rearranging everything to spend more time with Father, I gladly would. But I just can’t stand to see him in that condition, especially with no possibility of ever getting better. No, it’s time—time for Father to stop suffering, and time for what’s left of our family to move on.

I’m worried about Joey. I can’t remember the last instance we spent time together. My children hardly know him. Sometimes I wonder if I even know him.

He pretends he’s a man of the world, with his new business and all his girlfriends, but I think inside he’s a frightened child. After he saw Dr. Tremblay and found out about his having two copies of that ApoE4 gene, you would think he would have voiced some concern. But aside from when he came to see me to break the news, he hasn’t mentioned it again. And when I brought it up a few times, he just made light of it.

He has told me in the past that he is the way he is because of his upbringing. Maybe that’s true, maybe not. But all that doesn’t matter anymore. We are where we are in life, and it won’t do any good to place blame, if indeed there is any blame to place.





Joey





Day 690—The Letter


Yesterday, Florence, Bernie, and I went over to the house on Oakland. We decided that we might as well as go through Mom and Dad’s stuff, since no one will be living there anymore—at least no one from our family.

While going through Mom’s desk, I came across a copy of her and Dad’s wills, as well as their living mandates. Now, Dad isn’t gone yet, but, given his condition, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to read everything. Florence and Bernie agreed.

The bottom line is, Dad’s will leaves everything to Mom. Her will leaves everything to Dad. And there is a provision in both wills stating that Florence and I should share what’s left once they’re both gone. The living mandates give Florence and me power of attorney. Florence said we probably should sell the house. Sounds good to me. I could finally pay off my debts, including the thirty-plus grand I owe Bernie.

They asked me what I wanted besides my share of the house. I said I’d like the family photo that Mom kept by the side of her bed. And that’s all I really wanted—honest. I’m not saying if there was something of great value that I wouldn’t have asked for my part.

As we went through Mom’s desk, Florence came across two letters. The front of one envelope said, For Joey, to be opened after my death. The other one was for Florence. They were from Dad. I could tell by the shaky handwriting.

I stuffed my envelope inside my jacket. I certainly wasn’t going to open it in front of them, especially after Florence said maybe we should wait till Dad dies before reading them. She said the letters were different from a will. But I didn’t think I would be violating any trust, given Dad’s condition.

Anyway, I went to see him this morning. I took the letter with me. Somehow, I felt if I read it in front of him—I don’t know—maybe it would be more kosher. I guess it sounds stupid, but that’s how I felt.