You Only Get So Much (13 page)

Chapter 26

The next few months
amble by at a turtle's pace. I'm absolutely dreading every minute at the Cedar
House. Kendall and Gracie, for their parts are a complete joy. The one bright
spot in this ordeal. No kidding. Kendall's sour attitude has been replaced with
a large helping of silence. She has her moments, but I can still see that girl
who helped me get ready for my first date with Michelle. Kendall's taken on a
more active role with Gracie mainly because my mother has been forced to spend
more and more time as a caretaker for my father.

He's slipping away. Mom
won't say it, but it's obvious. The doctors told us that there was no reason to
continue taking him to the physical therapy appointments. His muscles and
joints are so deteriorated that they don't see the point. And even though he
can't say it, it's causing him a great deal of pain. There's just no reason to
put him through it anymore. This means my trips out of the house with him are
no more.

My only escape is
Michelle. We talk every day. Or at least text each other. I'm dumbfounded by this
whole "texting" thing. Obviously I missed the technology wave that
ushered in the texting era, because I can still remember using one central
telephone—in the living room, no less—to talk to girls. Where every
piece of your conversation was basically broadcast to the whole family. But
today I can be sitting in a coffee shop and be having a private texting
conversation with Michelle, without the 15 or 20 people around me knowing any
part of our discussion. Maybe this shouldn't seem so groundbreaking, but for me
it's brand new. So when my mom asks if I talked to Michelle today, she means on
the phone. Texting doesn't count.

It's irritating at my
age that I'm required to have these conversations with my mother, mainly
because of my basic proximity to her.

"Why don't you just
call her, William?" She asks almost daily. "Or does the phone part of
your phone not work?"

"It works Mom, but
that's just not how people talk anymore," I tell her.

"I'm people. Aren't
I?" She asks, exasperated. "You don't see me punching those tiny
buttons and trying to read words the same size as a fortune cookie paper!"

Everything small is
constantly compared to the paper inside a fortune cookie. It's my mom's go-to
small statement. I don't know why; but then again, why should I start
understanding her now? She's not made my relationship with Michelle any
easier.
 
She continues to refer to
Michelle as
her
,
as in, "are you going out with
her
again." Or "if it wasn't for
her
, you'd be
around more." Or my favorite, "Well, I guess if I was
her
, I'd be
getting a lot of attention too."

Ridiculous. I thought it
couldn't get worse. And then came Christmas.

* * *

Christmas morning is
supposed to be a time of giving and good cheer. If you happen to get something
nice as a gift, then great, be happy. But don't expect it, because invariably,
you'll be disappointed. My cynical view of the holiday is shared wholeheartedly
by my mother, probably because she's the one who imposed this view on my
siblings and me every year when we were kids. She'd buy us the worst
gifts—things we would never in a million years actually want—then
watch us complain just so she could give us a stern talking to about giving,
not receiving.

Well, screw that.

I planned to give my
family a great holiday. This year, I decided that I was going to go over the
top with gifts to show Mom that I was all about giving. I did not have any
expectations of getting presents in return. But it was a disaster regardless.

I bought Kendall a new
laptop. She'd been spending so much time on her old one that I figured it was
something that she could use. Besides, her old one was a four-year-old
hand-me-down from her mom. I got her a brand new Mac and wrapped the box with a
big bow.

Gracie was a bit harder
to shop for, but then again, I was going for splash, not practicality. All she
does is play with her dolls. She lines them up like little soldiers in her
room. So I got her the best one out there—a $350 American Girl doll. The
lady in the store said it was the most popular one; but then again, I think she
probably worked on commission, so who knows? I bought the doll anyway.

I got my mom a pop-up
greenhouse. She used to have a large garden when she and Dad lived in their own
house.
 
She would spend hours in
the garden, then make these elaborate meals with fresh fruits and vegetables. I
figured this way, she could do a little bit of planting on raised counters, so
she didn't have to bend over and strain. It was perfect.

I got my dad new
armrests for his wheelchair, which wasn't very exciting, but considering that
he was in it most of the day, I thought it might mean something to him. The arm
rests were embroidered with the Seattle Mariners logo and several baseball
bats. He used to watch them all the time and even these days Mom occasionally
turns on a game.
 

So, when Christmas
morning rolled around, I was ready for a great day. I got up early and made
pancakes. The presents were all under the tree. Eight thirty came. Then 9:00
and nobody was awake. My excitement was childlike, but slowly wearing off.
Finally after I did a little stomping around in the hallway outside the girls'
bedrooms I heard them both stirring. I peeked into Gracie's room. Her face
poked out from under the covers.

"Merry
Christmas," I whisper. "It's time to get up."

Without a word, she
throws back the covers to reveal that she's wearing a beautiful red and green
holiday dress.

"I wondered if
anyone was going to come get me!" she says, the excitement visible in her
expression.
 

"We'd better go
wake up your sister too, then," I say.

"OK."

She bounces out of the
room and pushes her way into Kendall's room. She taps her on the shoulder.

"Time to wake up,
sissy!" she says.

Kendall groans and rolls
over. Undeterred, Gracie jumps on top of her and shakes her shoulders gently.

"It's present
time!" she says.

"Alright, give me a
second," Kendall says. "I need to pee, and then I'll come down."

Gracie and I head toward
my parents' room.

"We'd better wake
up Grandma and Grandpa, too," I say. "They're not going to sleep in
the whole morning, right?"

"No way!"
Gracie says, excited.

When we reach their
door, I knock softly, knowing that even the slightest sound will wake up Mom.
It always had before, which is why I'm so surprised she's not up yet. No answer
to my knock. I turn the knob and peek in. Mom is sitting up in bed. Gracie runs
to jump on the bed. She's been doing that for a few weeks now, but something
makes me hold her back, wrapping my arms around her stomach, just as she passes
me. I hold her there, while looking at my mom. Her face is drawn and pale like
she hadn't slept all night. Her bright full-length nightgown is buttoned tight,
like she'd been in this position for a while. But it's the tears on her cheeks
that made me grab Gracie and hold her tight.

My father's hand is resting
on Mom's leg. What would have been a comforting pat by a lifetime companion
seems anything but. He's turned toward her, so I can't see his face, but I
don't have to. The blotchy white skin on his neck is more pale that usual and
for good reason.

Mom shakes her head.
It's either a recognition of what happened sometime last night or a delayed
reaction to Gracie wanting to jump on the bed, but either way she's saying
"no . . . no . . . no."

Chapter 27

My father died sometime
in the early morning hours of Christmas, before the sun was up. Mom said he
mouthed the words,
good night
. She moved his hand onto her leg and held it until the
end. I didn't ask her why she stayed in bed, knowing he was gone. What would I
do if that happened? I have no earthly idea and I don't want to find out
either.

It doesn't dawn on me
until this moment that I'm the only male Redmond left. My brother and father
are both gone, leaving me here alone. A pitiful excuse to carry on the family
name. If I needed something, I could always go to Dad. Now who am I supposed to
go to?

Seeing my father dead,
lying next to my mother was an experience, but nothing like telling Gracie what
happened. She was so high for the holiday already. It was Christmas morning and
the excitement of the day was what little kids dream of. But not this. This
girl who had already experienced the death of her parents didn't need to have
her special holiday ruined by another family member passing. But it did ruin
it. Christmas was over before it began. There was no way I could talk my way
out of it. It happened and none of us could go back.

I remember when I was a
kid—I must have been 11 or 12—and my uncle Warren died. He was my
dad's brother who I didn't know well at all. I don't know why he died either;
maybe cancer, old age, heart failure? But it was expected somehow and he was in
the hospital when it happened. Dozens of family members were gathered outside
in the hallway. A few of the close relatives were in the room. Trevor and I
were sitting in some chairs down a few doors. My dad came out of the room and
everyone in the hallway turned toward him. His vacant stare commanded
everyone's attention. And in that exact moment, they all knew that Uncle Warren
had passed on.

Dad had leaned against a
wall and let out a breathy sob from deep inside his chest and let the emotions
he'd obviously been holding back take over.
 
He cried like that for a long while. Trevor and I ran to him
and hugged him. I remember asking Trevor later why Dad cried like that. He said
it was because Uncle Warren was his brother and that's just what you do when
you're sad.

"
You only get so
much family
," Trevor said. "
They're here and then they are gone
." Wise
words from a kid in junior high.

So how was I supposed to
tell Gracie that? Was this going to be the moment that she will remember, like
I did with Uncle Warren? Or would it numb her?

In the hall Kendall
seemed to know what happened when she saw my face as I turned and ushered
Gracie back into the hall without letting her inside my parents' room. Her
shoulders dropped and the muscles on her face relaxed as she covered her mouth
with her hand and stood frozen.

Kendall in the hall,
frozen. Mom still in the bed. Gracie ready to open presents, unaware of this
tragedy. This is the point when somebody is supposed to take charge and start
telling people what to do. They'd know who needed phone calls and where
important papers were kept and which funeral home to call. And somebody had to
tell Gracie. I was completely unprepared. My mind blank. Useless.

Gracie, sensing now that
something was wrong, stopped smiling and pulling me toward the living room.

"What's
wrong?" she said.

I knelt down beside her
so I was at the same level as her.

"You know how
Grandpa has been sick, right?" I stutter, the words not coming out as the
take-charge guy at all.

She nods yes, but
doesn't say anything.

"Grandpa passed
away last night," I say, tears streaking down my face. "He was old
and lived a long life and got to know you really well, and that made him happy.
 
But it was his time to go."

"Like Mom and
Dad?" She asks, in a voice that melts my heart.

I sit down on the floor
and pull her onto my lap because my knees are too weak to stand anymore.

"Yes, honey . . .
like Mom and Dad."

We stay in the hall for
a long time. I think it was more for my benefit than hers. I keep thinking to
myself, that
you
only get so much family
—just like Trevor said. And mine is leaving
me.

*
* *

Michelle comes over and
takes charge of the girls. She came up with the idea of taking them sledding
for a few hours so they were out of the house when Dad's body is taken away and
I figure out what to do about Mom. She still hasn't left the bedroom.
 

"I don't know what
I would do if I didn't have you to help me," I say to Michelle as she
helps Gracie with her gloves.

"That's not true at
all," she says. "But I'm glad I can help."

She kisses me and I give
Gracie a hug goodbye.

"We're going to
have our Christmas soon," I say to Gracie. "I'm sorry, honey."

"It's OK Uncle
Billy. I like sledding," she says.

"And I hear that
Michelle is going to find you the best sledding hill in town, too."

"Really?"
Gracie says, looking at Michelle with wide eyes.

"You can't beat the
hills at Manito," she says, referring to the massive park on Spokane's
South Hill. "That's where I used to go when I was a kid."

For a moment I let my
mind drift to Manito Park, how I went there as a kid too and how I spent time
there with Jane. Good times and bad times.

"OK, let's
go!" Gracie says, opening the door and waiting on the front porch.

I let the thought of the
park go.

Kendall doesn't seem to
share her sister's excitement.

"I'm not going
sledding. Can't I just go to Ethan's house?" she asks.

"You don't have to
go sledding, but I would like you to stay with your sister. She knows Michelle,
but not that well."

"I don't know her
either," she says. "This sucks."

"This isn't fair to
you, I know, but I need you to be strong for her," I say.

"What about me?
When do I get to be taken care of? All you care about is her feelings,"
Kendall says with tears in her eyes.

"I forget how young
you are," I say. "You've been so good for your sister . . . such an
adult. I don't see you as a kid—"

"I'm not a kid. But
he was my grandpa too! God. You're such an A-hole."

With that, she stomps
past me out the front door to Gracie and Michelle.

*
* *

I call 911, because I
thought that's what you're supposed to do. A Spokane Police officer arrives at
the house a short while after Michelle and the girls left. He is wearing a red
Santa hat, which reminds me that this is Christmas after all. This
guy—Ellis is the name stitched on his chest—doesn't want to be
working on a holiday either, but he doesn't show it. He is respectful and only
asked a series of routine questions that thankfully I have the answers
for.
 

I had only gotten my
mother out of the bedroom minutes before the officer arrived. I didn't give her
a choice. I handed her a bathrobe and set her slippers by the edge of the bed.
She'd already moved my father's hand off her leg, and covered him up to his
neck with a blanket. I was glad for this. He looked like he was sleeping.

"We need to let the
officer do his job, Mom," I tell her. "He'll be here soon. Dad's gone
and you don't want to be in here when they move him."

She doesn't say a word
in response, which is the first time in . . . well forever that I can recall my
mother not taking the opportunity to speak her mind. She slipped on the robe
over her shoulders and put the slippers on her feet. She walked to the door,
but stopped at the threshold and turned back to my father. She blew him a slow
kiss. A goodbye that officially split the couple after more than four decades
as one.