An Absent Mind (18 page)

Florence

Day 669—Shock

I
usually don’t drink, but last night Bernie and I celebrated our wedding anniversary at the local bistro with a bottle of champagne. So this morning when the phone rang, I just let it go to voice mail. Less than a minute later, it rang again. Daniel must have been up, playing one of his video games, and he answered. I heard him yell for me, so I fumbled for the phone, dragging the cord toward me.

When I finally got the receiver close to my ear, I heard Joey on the other end. He stumbled and stuttered, but finally he was able to give me the news. I won’t say I was totally surprised. Mother did look somewhat pallid and unstable on her feet yesterday. But still, you don’t think of a parent dying so suddenly. It’s different when you’re prepared, like we probably will be with Father when his time comes.

I rushed over to the house. Joey answered the door. I could see a medic standing in the doorway; he was on his cell phone. I asked him if he could leave me alone with Mother for a few minutes. Then I walked through the open door, sat on the bed, and pulled her close to me. She was cold and pale and moist. I held her tightly against my chest. Somehow, I couldn’t cry. I think I felt that by crying I would be acknowledging her passing, and I wasn’t ready to do that—not yet anyway.

I talked to her like I often do with Father, his eyes closed, his body limp except for the odd twitch. I have often wondered if he hears me, but you know what? I don’t do it for him, and wasn’t doing it for Mother now. I was doing it for me, to bring me closer.

Florence

Day 671—Mother’s Funeral

T
his isn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Father was the one who would go first, even though Mother had a bad heart. That’s what we’ve all thought for the longest time. The doctor reassured us that she probably died quickly and without pain. Thank God for that.

Now here we are in the mourners’ area in the sanctuary at Silverberg and Sons, waiting for the last few people to take their seats. The place looks about three-quarters full.

From here, I can see Nicole Drapkin, one of my classmates at McGill. The handsome man beside her must be her new husband. And there’s Jamie Ram. I can’t believe he came. I haven’t seen him for at least twenty years. I used to have a crush on him back in high school, before I met Bernie. And there are several more people I never would have guessed would have bothered to show up. I can even see a couple of Joey’s old girlfriends toward the back. It’s funny how death sometimes spawns renewed friendships. Maybe that’s God’s way of compensating the next of kin for their loss.

Mother’s casket is sitting below the lectern, from which I’ll be giving a eulogy after the one by Rabbi Phillips. I really hope I can hold it together and not break down. That’s going to be hard to do, given my emotional state. So I’ll just try to block out the people and read my notes.

I asked Joey if he wanted to say anything. He said I could say it best. And I guess he’s right. That’s probably because I spent more time with Mother. Although I’m sure Joey’s turnaround in going to stay with her before she passed away brought them closer.

Father is sitting beside me in his wheelchair. Joey and I had a heated discussion as to whether he should come. Joey was afraid his appearance might embarrass us. I told him that was ridiculous. First of all, everyone here knows about Father’s condition. But putting that aside, the important thing is what Mother would have wanted. I know she would have wanted him here, and I know Father wouldn’t have it any other way, if he could voice his opinion.

Father’s eyes seem to open every few seconds, look at the casket, then close again. It’s like he’s doing whatever he can to focus, that he knows what’s happening. And who knows, maybe he does. Well, the rabbi is about to deliver his eulogy…

Joey

Day 671—Mom’s Funeral

I
think it was a mistake for Dad to be here. What was Florence thinking? I told her he wasn’t in any condition to come to the funeral. And once again, I was right. It started off okay, with him sitting between us. But when the rabbi finished his eulogy and Florence stood up, Dad started wailing. I couldn’t figure out whether he wasn’t with the program and just howling, or if he truly knew what was happening and was grieving. Either way, it took Florence and me what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of minutes, to calm him down so that Florence could move to the lectern.

I must admit she was very eloquent and probably right about Mom and Dad’s relationship, at least the part she talked about. She didn’t get into their constant bickering, but I guess you don’t do dirty laundry at funerals.

She did, however, talk about their devotion to each other, and how Mom loved us, bragging to her friends all the time about what great children we were. I could see a few of her friends in the front pews nodding in agreement. That’s all very nice, but it would have been better had she—and Dad—told us instead of their friends, if, indeed, Dad did feel that way. And that’s something I guess I will never know for sure, given the state he’s in now.

Saul

Day 671—Monique’s Funeral

Whatt’s the BoX? why sha’s nOt herre?

Dr. Tremblay

Day 678—The Reimers

I
have just returned to my office after having spent the morning at Manoir Laurier. During that time, I visited Mr. Reimer’s room to check up on him. His son and daughter were there. I offered my condolences on their mother’s passing last week. I have seen the daughter quite a bit during my visits, but I haven’t seen the son—Joey, I believe is his name—since he came to me a few years ago about his ApoE genes.

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

I
t’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.