An Absent Mind (16 page)

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

T
oday 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.

Florence

Day 640—What Next?

W
e were at Manoir Laurier this morning, Mother, Bernie, and I. Father was having one of his good days. Everything’s relative, but his eyes were open and they seemed to be following at least some of our conversation. Mother was complaining about Joey and how he hadn’t been there all week. So what else is new? She said she wouldn’t prompt him to visit anymore. That if he didn’t care, there was nothing more she could do.

Bernie defended Joey, saying that he just might not be able to cope with all of this. Mother got red in the face and started yelling at no one in particular. Venting, really. She said it has been hell for her but that she shows up. That she probably coddled Joey too much when he was young, and now he has no sense of responsibility. He doesn’t think about anyone but himself and is driven only by money.

Father looked at her like he was in agreement, his head nodding slightly as he kept her in his gaze. That seemed to spur her on. She shifted her focus to Father, talking to him like he could understand her, asking him where they went wrong. Almost like she was actually expecting an answer. Father uttered a few incoherent words, while Mother persisted, her voice shaking.

Suddenly, she pulled her hands to her chest. Her eyes widened. Her breathing accelerated. She fell back in her chair. I asked her what was wrong. She said she felt dizzy and had pain in her back. I could see perspiration on her forehead. Bernie said he would ring for the nurse.

Mother shook her head, saying it would pass in a few seconds. She closed her eyes for a moment, then raised herself up in her chair and looked over at Father. He just stared at her, mumbling. She got only a few more words out before her eyes glazed over. I screamed for Bernie to press the emergency button, and then I grabbed Mother’s purse, dumping the contents on the floor until her nitro pump fell out.

I administered it while Bernie called 911 on his cell phone. The nurses got there in a few seconds, and minutes later the medics arrived. They placed her on a stretcher and wheeled her down the hall toward the elevator and out to the ambulance.

Monique

Day 651—A Close Call

I
’ve spent eleven days sharing a room with three other people in the hospital. If I weren’t already sick, this would do it. I don’t think I’ve gotten more than an hour’s sleep any night. The man next to me has a raspy cough that sounds like he is in the throes of death. The man in the cubicle opposite me is Spanish or Mexican and has a loud extended family that pours in at all hours, even though the night nurse has read them the riot act.

And then there was the poor woman in the cubicle on my right. She was only thirty-nine, and from Haiti. She had just brought her two daughters to Canada after a period of three years, when they had to stay with their grandmother down there while their visa applications went through Canada’s bureaucratic process. They were barely teenagers and so well behaved. I wish mine had been like that when they were those girls’ ages. Well, I guess Florence was pretty good.

Speaking of Florence, I told her not to visit me and to spend time with her father instead. But you know her—she spends lunch and dinner with him and then comes to see me at night.

The third morning, just after sunrise, they came to prepare the Haitian woman for surgery. She gave me a tight smile as they wheeled her away. I could tell by her eyes that she was frightened—and who wouldn’t be.

I followed the slow-moving hands of the clock beside the window all day. By dinnertime, she still hadn’t returned. Around nine that night, they rolled an elderly man into her cubicle. The woman from Haiti had died on the operating table. I told the nurse to get the number for her daughters. I will send a check to them at their aunt’s house. And then when I’m better, I’ll go see them.

I must say as bad as the conditions are in the hospital, the doctors are fantastic. They told me that I was close to death when I arrived at the emergency room, that I had arrhythmia and my heart had actually stopped at Manoir Laurier. They said the medics had used a defibrillator and administered some medications. The nurse told me what they were, but they all had such long names, I can’t remember them. She said when I arrived at the hospital, they had inflated a balloon in the arteries around my heart and cleared three blockages. They said I would have been released earlier, but I had some complications. I’m getting some other medications now, and they seem to be working, because I feel a little stronger. The doctor in charge of the ward said I should be able to go home tomorrow—not a day too soon.

Joey

Day 651—Finally, a Good Dream

I
can’t remember a night that I haven’t had terrible dreams—actually, horrible nightmares. Last night was different. I had my usual glass of chardonnay and a few tokes of weed before I turned off the light and fell asleep.

Here, to the best of my recollection, is what I dreamed: Dad was sitting at the foot of my bed, dressed in a blue suit, white dress shirt, and red tie. His posture was straight, like he had a steel rod in his back. His face was serene, his smile calm. He told me that I was a better son to him than he was to his father. That our conflicts were not my fault, but, rather, a result of his being stubborn and obstinate. He apologized for the tantrums, the doubts, and his lack of emotional involvement. He said he loved me and only wanted my happiness. Then he stood up, leaned over, and hugged me. I could feel the wet tears falling off his face onto my cheek. They were warm and cold at the same time. More important, they were comforting. He stayed in that position for a long time, seemingly not wanting to stop. And frankly, I didn’t want him to, either.

I generally remember only fragments of my nightmares, just enough to haunt me. But this morning when I woke up, every gesture, every word, every movement of last night’s dream was so vivid, like it actually happened. If only it had.