An Absent Mind (17 page)

Florence

Day 656—A Miracle

L
ast Sunday, I was at Mother’s house, preparing for her return home. It’s ironic that she had moved the bedroom downstairs for Father, and now it is she who can’t climb the stairs.

She was at the hospital for over ten days after the attack. The cardiologist told me her heart is really diseased, and the prognosis for some kind of normal life will depend a lot on her stress level.

Mother insisted that she didn’t want a caretaker living in her house. I can certainly understand that. Who wants a stranger living in your house 24/7. I told her I would take a leave of absence from my work and move in until she was strong enough to manage for herself. I have cut back my hours a lot since having the kids anyway, and even more so since Father got sick. The partners at the firm have been very understanding. As long as I take care of my clients, they have no problem with my working on my files at home.

Bernie wasn’t happy that I’d be staying with Mother, but he understood. The kids said they would come by every day after school, do their homework, and stay for dinner, so at least we could see one another.

Bernie went to pick up Mother while I left to get some groceries. I chose things I knew she might not like but that were good for her. I realized that wasn’t going to go over well, but I certainly wasn’t going to contribute to another heart attack.

When they arrived, I helped her into the house and into her room. She had begun light exercise, walking the corridors of the hospital, but she was still very weak.

I got her undressed, put her in bed, and went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

Only minutes after Bernie left to get back to the children, the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone at five o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel by the stove and walked through the living room to the front door.

I almost keeled over when I opened it. Joey was standing there with a suitcase in his hand. He looked like a door-to-door salesman carrying his wares. I asked him what he was doing there. What he said almost gave
me
a heart attack. After everything I’ve told you about him, you couldn’t imagine his answer. He said he was moving in with Mother and would take care of her. That I could go home to my children. That he would stay with her until she was better.

Joey

Day 660—Why Move in with Mom?

T
hat’s a good question. One I’ve been asking myself over and over. If I had to rank my parents in order, I’m not sure exactly how it would come out, maybe neither of them would make the top spot. Like I’ve said before, in their own way they probably did what they could. And I guess they learned their parenting skills from their parents, so you can’t really blame them. But nonetheless, I still had to endure my father’s icy demeanor. I mean, how many fathers, when at seven years old you go to kiss them good night, would offer you a handshake instead—and never kiss you again? And my mother’s being preoccupied with her favorite Florence all the time. What about me?

Anyway, what’s done is done, and here I am. I realize that no parent is perfect, despite what we thought when we were kids. And so to compensate for some of the things that go missing in our childhood, we tend to go one way or the other. I’m having trouble saying this clearly, but what I mean is that Florence is the way she is because of how she was treated as a kid, and the same goes for me.

In spite of everything, seeing Mom lying there so close to death really scared me and made me realize how mortal we all are. Especially me, now that I have the ApoE4 genes. I’d want to know someone would be there for me if something were to happen.

I told Florence I would stay with Mom until she’s better, figuring it will be a month—tops. Even I can handle that. But frankly, if it stretches on much longer than that, then I’ll have to reassess the whole thing.

Florence

Day 668—The Visit

I
pulled my Volvo into Mother’s driveway just before noon. A minute later, she appeared on Joey’s arm from the side door. Her hair was up in a bouffant. She had on Father’s favorite dress, the blue one with the silver stripes on the sleeves. Given she had been back home for just over two weeks, it wasn’t surprising that she looked tired. Her gait was a bit wobbly, but Joey held onto her elbow to steady her as she got into the front seat. This would be the first time she would see Father since her heart attack.

When we walked into Father’s room, he was staring at the television, seemingly in a trance.

But a moment later, he turned toward Mother and said, “
Bonjour, chou-fleur
.”

I had to hold on to her, as I thought she would collapse right there.

She reached out for his hand and stroked it. “
Bonjour, mon cher
,” she said.

Father smiled and put his hand on top of hers. If I hadn’t been there to see it myself, I never would have believed it.

I slid a chair under her, and Joey helped her into it. Her hand didn’t move, and neither did Father’s. They just looked into each other’s eyes, their gazes never moving, transfixed, experiencing something we weren’t privy to. Seconds later, Father’s vacuous stare returned to the television, and the moment ended.

Joey said, “Mom, he knows you’re here.”

Mother nodded, and said, “Yes, I’m sure he does.”

And I believe he did. He has those moments where you just know he’s back with you. This was definitely one of them.

Twenty minutes later, Joey looked at his watch and cleared his throat. Mother and I were familiar with the signal. It was time to go. I helped her up. She bent over Father and gave him a kiss on his forehead, followed by a kiss on his lips, and a long hug. Then she took Joey’s arm, and we left Father’s room.

Monique

Day 668—My Saul

J
oey, Florence, and I went down to visit Saul today. Maybe I’m just getting used to seeing him like that, shriveled, hands closed, like he’s holding one of Dugin’s balls, his face contorting now and then. So when I first saw him today, it was not any different from any other day.

Then he looked at me. I mean really looked at me. It was as if we were connecting once again, just like when we first met. I don’t believe it lasted for more than a minute, if that, but it was truly magic.

I don’t remember if he said anything besides when he called me
chou-fleur
. That stunned me. Other than nonsensical chatter, he hasn’t uttered a word in over a year. It was as if he felt this might be the last time we would ever see each other. And, you know, I think it was so powerful for both of us, that even if it were the last time, what a wonderful way for me to remember him.

Dr. Tremblay said that Alzheimer’s patients sometimes open their eyes like they’re trying to communicate, wanting to say good-bye, just before they pass away. I always thought that was hogwash. If they can’t think, how could they do that? Yet I am convinced that’s what happened today. And that’s going to both comfort me and cause me anguish as I try to sleep tonight.

Saul

Day 668—I Saw Her

JuSt … hEr as Pretti…CHoo fLeuR

Joey

Day 669—Too Soon

A
round seven this morning, I took Mom some tea and dry toast. I placed the tray on the dresser by her bed. She was lying on her side, facing the wall. I said, “Mom, time for breakfast.” No reply. I said again, “Mom, your breakfast is here.” Nothing. So I shook her a little, not wanting to startle her. She rolled over, away from me just a bit, but enough to alarm me. I took her by the shoulders and tried to move her into a sitting position, but she was limp. I felt her face. It was cold. I don’t know how to take someone’s pulse, but it was clear to me that she was gone.

Before bedtime, she had complained about having the worst headache of her life. I gave her two Tylenol and stayed with her until she fell asleep. I looked in on her around midnight and could hear her moving in the darkness, so it must have happened between then and seven. Anyway, I called 911, and the medics were here within minutes. I watched as the younger one felt for a pulse. After a moment, he looked up at me and shook his head.

To be honest with you, I didn’t know what I would feel when Mom died. We were never that close. But it really hit me when the guy looked up at me. I watched her lying there alone in that big bed, no one to hold her, no one to protect her. I guess it’s too late for all that.

Do you remember I told you before that I would stay with her for up to a month and then reassess the situation if she wasn’t better? Well, I meant it then, but as the time went by, I realized for the first time how much she loved me, and how just opening myself up a little to her, exposing myself a bit, just taking a chance—how much better it made me feel.

I actually realized it a few days after she got back from the hospital. I had made her a sandwich for lunch and called her into the kitchen. She shuffled in from the living room in her worn pink slippers, which she must have had since before my bar mitzvah. Her body wavered from side to side. I reached out and took her arm, guiding her to the chair by the window.

She looked up at me and said, “Joey, you have been out of my life for too long.”

I knew she was right, and it wasn’t proximity she was referring to. It was an emotional distance that had stretched further and further as time went on—until now. Sadly, with that epiphany less than a couple of weeks old, she’s gone.

And now I feel like I’m rootless. Florence has Bernie and the kids. Even Dad has the staff at the home, although whether he even knows that is another story. But when I leave here today and go back to the apartment, I’ll basically be an orphan. I have no real attachments to my sister or her family. I can’t even remember the last time I went over when it was just us being together and not a family meeting about Dad. Sure, I’ve got some friends, but no one who would go to the mat for me, and as for girlfriends—maybe I should have kept Maria or even Gabrielle. But that all doesn’t matter now. They’re gone from my life, and there are no replacements on the horizon.

So here I am. Alone. No mother. No father. No one.