So Long, Chester Wheeler(75)

“Okay,” I said. “Hit me with it.”

“He was the first person to die in your care. That’s a pivotal moment. It leaves a mark. It brings death very close to home and makes it feel real in a way we’re not used to. It requires some time for digestion. And this was pretty recent, right?”

“Oh, hell. So recent. I’m trying to think, but the days are all stretched out of shape in my head. I want to say it was four or five days ago, even though it feels like a month, but when I go over the details in my head, I think it might actually have been three or three and a half. Or two and a half! But I totally could be wrong.”

I felt awkward and embarrassed, what with not being able to tell time properly, but I hadn’t even caught up on my sleep since arriving home.

“For the purpose of this discussion,” Brian said, “three days or five days is really all the same. The point is that they’re both no time at all in the great scheme of things. It affected you, and you haven’t had a chance to process it yet.”

“No, I know I haven’t. I can feel that.”

“So you’re talking it out of your system as a way of making peace with it.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ve gone through this. Just about everybody I work with has gone through it. It’s a natural process. Even if there wasn’t much of a bond with the patient. I know you said the guy was unpleasant. But your first close brush with death will shake you, whether you had much rapport with the person or not.”

“The weird thing is, I sort of did. Have a rapport, I mean. I was starting to. I didn’t like him, but I was beginning to understand him. Like . . . the more I found out about his life and his past, the more I empathized with his situation. And the whole experience of dealing with him . . . it was . . . I don’t know how to describe it. I’m not sure I’ve managed to package it up in words yet. But it was . . . I keep wanting to say freeing. I don’t mean his dying. Not that part. I mean the part about learning enough about him that I started to understand him. Because somewhere along the line . . . somewhere down the road in this process I got something. All the way down to my gut I got something I’d never gotten before. I got that when a person is rude and abusive to me, it’s not about me at all. They can say something terrible to me or about me, but they’re revealing themselves, not me. It has nothing to do with me. They’re just showing me the landscape on the inside of themselves as they project it out onto somebody else. Does that make sense? It’s the first time I’ve tried to put it into words.”

He was only silent for a beat or two, but it felt longer. I bent myself into a pretzel trying to guess how those words had struck him.

“His daughter and his ex-wife were right,” he said.

Oddly, I made no immediate connection that would help me understand what he meant.

“About . . . ?”

“You should think about caregiving as a life’s work. You have a spark for it.”

His pronouncement made me uncomfortable, and I think I might’ve squirmed in my seat a bit.

“I’m pretty sure that was more than twenty minutes,” I said, referring to our original deal for the meeting.

“I think so, too,” he said, “but I’m not wearing a watch and I left my phone in the car. What time is it?”

My phone was lying facedown on the table, half-covered by a truly spectacular red and orange maple leaf. I turned it over.

“Holy cow,” I said.

“Late?”

“Ten after four.”

“I should go.”

He rose, and I rose.

And I thought, I blew that. I chased him away. I mean, it was nice of him to talk to me as though he had no objection to being my sounding board. But who wants to listen to Chester Wheeler stories for over two hours?

“I’ll call you,” he said.

I didn’t respond, because I wasn’t sure if he meant it, or if that’s just what you say to get away from the table.

“That is,” he added, “if you want me to.”

“I do,” I said. “I want you to.”

And he gave me a comfortable little smile and walked to his car.

I bussed our cups into the tray provided near the coffeehouse door, and then I headed for home on foot.

I called Anna on the way.

When she picked up, I said, “I’m about to thank you for something, but don’t say ‘You’re welcome,’ because you already did.”

“Told you so,” she said. “Brian. Changed. Your mind.”



I let myself back into Chester’s house and did a lot more work, even though I was much too tired.

At about seven in the evening I got a text from Brian.

It said, Accept or discard, as you choose. You might think about volunteering with hospice. Care for another couple of people, maybe easier ones this time. It might help you decide how you feel.

I sat with that for a minute or two. Then I texted back, Easier ones? Where would be the challenge in that?

He returned a little smile. Not one of the emojis people usually send, but an old-fashioned and simple sideways smiley face made from a colon, a hyphen, and the second part of parentheses.

:-)

Then I remembered I’d never called Sue. Somehow I had managed to ignore the reminder on my phone. I must’ve dismissed the notification without even thinking.