Forever: A Lobster Kind Of Love (2 page)

I knew the day of the funeral that I couldn’t stay in Nazareth, Pennsylvania. In this town, everyone knew everyone’s business. There were literally over 300 people at the service. Where the hell had all these people come from? A line formed outside of the funeral home just to get in.

Mason and Braxton were cremated. I couldn’t go through with seeing my husband and son lying in a casket and watch people look at them as they cried. Personally, I wondered why they hadn’t come to see us when my family was alive. Who were they anyway?

Now my boys were ashes in a box. Everyone who came to give their condolences looked at me with
those
eyes.

I felt like a sideshow freak. If I heard one more person say, “I am so sorry, if you need anything let us know,” I might just scream and yell, “Fuck you all. I need my boys! Can you give me that?!”

I wondered why I’d even had the service. They were not buried. I don’t even recall planning it. I think Mason’s aunts arranged everything. As I sat there, everything was a blur. All I knew was that one day soon I would be leaving this town and everyone in it. I needed to get away, the sooner the better.

They were transferring me today to some rehab center in New York City. There just weren’t places around here in Maine to handle these types of injuries. The doctors told me how I lucky I was, but what did that even mean?

Fishing was my life. Always has been. I don’t know how to do anything else. If I can’t fish, the sea might as well have taken me.

I kept trying to will my legs to move, but they just lay there. My head hurt as I concentrated and tried to make them move, or do anything at all. My thighs clenched with every attempt, but it wasn’t enough to make my legs move. A muscle twitch was all I received.

It’s been a week since I “woke up” and when they were not pumping me full of fluids or medicines, I just lay there and tried to get my body to move.

I felt so tired; everything wore me out. Even when I attempted to sit up in bed, pushing my body up tired me out. I might as well have died at sea. I would have sunk since I can’t even sit up in bed. I am one fucking defective buoy.

This was a long-ass boring ride to New York City. I felt bad for my escorts. These poor ambulance guys, one had to drive, and the other had to sit here and stare at me the whole way. I didn’t know these guys from Adam, and I knew they were trying to be nice and all, but there was only so much that could be said about the weather.

David, the paramedic, drove, obviously ecstatic that he had a day free of paperwork because this was a Basic Life Support transport, since I didn’t have any IV lines or airway issues to maintain. He kept going on and on about the best lobster roll he’d ever eaten. Apparently, they had stopped off at the Rose Garden for lunch. I wondered how Al was doing. I always stopped off at the Rose Garden and took Al, the owner, my first catch, docks be damned. I set aside two nice big ones and my crew and I drank for free all night. I hoped Dougie, my first mate, was taking care of him since I was lying around unable to do anything productive.

Winston, my babysitter EMT in the back, had some reading material to keep him busy. I hoped my medical records entertained him. He’d been filling out some triplicate forms and reading my medical file since we’d left the hospital. That thing was about three inches thick.
Good luck with that, buddy.

“Anything interesting in there, man?” Winston looked up from the file and shrugged.

“Nothing you don’t know. It’s all about you.”

“What are you looking for? I see you flipping around in there.”

“The hospital just gives me your file and your basic information. But we are not taking you home, so most of that information is pretty useless to us but needs to go with you to rehab.” He said as he chuckled. “So I am just digging out what I need to complete my report, your meds, previous medical history, and current condition…stuff like that. I guess they figure we got a nice long drive; I’ll have something to keep me busy.”

“Seriously, dude? So they just gave me to you and didn’t say anything else?”

“Well, they just said you were stable, conscious, and non-ambulatory and it’s a long ride. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do it sitting in your wheelchair in one of those ambulettes. That would suck, especially if we hit traffic!”

I figured he had a point. I get to lie down and I could sleep if I wanted to. I didn’t want to sleep though, I wanted to fish. It’s almost July and all the clambakes and Independence Day cookouts meant big money. We made a killing on Memorial Day and the July 4th holiday was even bigger.

“So what happened to you anyway?” Winston asked.

I would tell him… “What does that novel say happened?”

“Uh, let’s see…” he flipped through a couple sections, tabs, and stopped.
I didn’t know there were pictures in there.

“It says here you were in a boating accident. You got hit hard in a storm and were knocked overboard by a mast.”

“That sounds about right. What else?” He flipped a few more pages and read aloud a bit.

“You were unconscious when they fished you out the water. You had cracked vertebrae in your spine and they fused a couple together to stabilize you, but your mobility hasn’t returned. You were in a medically induced coma for three weeks. Wow, three weeks? That’s a long time.” He looked up and realized he’d said that aloud. “I’m sorry man. No filter.” He bowed his head and went back to reading.

“Naw, it’s all right. What else does it say?”

He looked unsure, glanced at me from under his glasses, and continued. “We are transferring you to Woodhaven Rehab in New York City for physical and occupational therapy.” My laughter must have startled him because he stopped reading.

“Are you okay?” he asked with concern in his voice.

“It’s just funny, occupational therapy. What are they going to do? Find me a secretary job in New York City?”

Winston smiled, and I saw the thoughts cross his mind. “I guess that is a silly term. No, what it means is they will help you learn to do everyday things in a new way, given your um, new situation,” Winston added.

Comfortable silence filled the remainder of the ride and eventually Winston dozed on the bench seat with my file on his lap.

As we entered New York City, I watched the skyscrapers from my mobile bed and saw swarms of taxis out the back door windows of the ambulance. There were yellow and black taxis darting back and forth, as they weaved their way through traffic. It was scary because it felt like there were coming right toward the ambulance. After a few minutes, it became this beautiful dance, like bumblebees. It was a crazy but well-orchestrated dance of yellow cabs buzzing around the array of colorful vehicles, red Smart cars, blue Hondas, plush green minivans, sleek black Town Cars, and an occasional Volkswagen bug.

Eventually, we made our way over the Brooklyn Bridge. Even a small town fisherman like me knew about the Brooklyn Bridge. With its stone columns looming overhead, I watched the skyscrapers of Manhattan grow smaller and smaller as we entered Brooklyn.

A long drive through two brick posts led us onto a green campus adjacent to a cemetery. It was beautiful, but next to a cemetery? I could see the elaborate headstones and monuments adorning well-manicured rows of the deceased with a small grouping of mausoleums atop a hill in the middle of the grounds.
How morbid
. If rehab didn’t go well, they didn’t have far to take you. A chill ran down my spine as David pulled open the rear doors and announced, “Welcome to Woodhaven Rehab.”

It was June, and I’d made the choice to leave Nazareth and had accepted a job transfer to Eastport, Maine. It was an easy transition since I was a nurse; I had my license transferred through reciprocity to Maine. My Pennsylvania office transferred my work history, and with a few phone calls, a new job awaited me in Maine. Now I just needed to get there.

I also needed to find a place to live. Mason, Braxton, and I had gone on vacation to Eastport about two years ago. I fell in love with the quaint little town; it was like going back in time. I contacted Al, the owner of the Rose Garden, to ask if he knew of anyone renting apartments. He happened to find me a furnished one-bedroom apartment just outside of town center.

Tonya and Jill, my best friends, have been my rocks. We have known each other since the first day of kindergarten and have been inseparable ever since. They held me, let me cry on their shoulders, came to my house in the middle of the night, and sat with me when I needed them, especially after my nightmares kept me from getting any sleep.

Now, they were both by my side as we packed my house. They helped me sort through stuff, helped me with my breakdowns, and fed me alcohol while we packed.

I knew I needed to stop drinking. I was packing up the only life I had ever known and donating what I couldn’t fit into my SUV to charity and that included all of the furniture. How sad that a three bedroom house filled with memories, had been reduced to a packed SUV.

As Tonya placed the last box in my vehicle, she looked at me with tears in her eyes. “Lydia, I just want you to laugh again, smile and be ‘Happy Lydia’! I hope this move helps you because I need you back. I miss your smile!”

I cried as I stood there. I hugged each of my girls and thanked them for their help.
What would I do without these women?

I would be alone in Maine. I knew they were just a phone call away, and they had promised they would visit me soon. I just needed some time. I needed to find me again.

After Jill and Tonya left, I felt my reality setting in. I handed my landlord my keys and sat behind the wheel of my car. Yes, I would get through this; I just needed to be strong.
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Pop a Xanax; I was really doing this.

It was time to drive to the most isolated town I could think of— where no one knew my story. I didn’t want people looking at me with sad eyes. I didn’t want people pitying me. I needed some solitude; I needed to hear
me
again. I didn’t want to be
the
widow
, but I was no longer
the wife
, either. I would always be my son’s mother, just not in my new life in Maine. I needed to find my new role, a new me.

Here I come, Eastport, Maine. With a population of 1,500, Eastport was a proclaimed lobster-fishing town and it would be a 653-mile road trip.

I could do this.

I clutched my necklace and knew they were watching from above. Setting my GPS, I pulled out of the driveway and blasted my Roadtrip music playlist. I was ready to find life again and hopefully a brand new beginning for me. I wanted to be just Lydia again. It was time to breathe and be whole again.

The first few weeks of rehab mimicked the last few weeks in the hospital, minus all the machines. Regardless of what tests the hospital performed, Woodhaven Rehab did them again. I was considered medically stable so I was not hooked up to any machines or monitors. The first few days they kept the IV lock in my arm to perform the kidney function tests. They finally removed it, but I wouldn’t be happy until they removed the catheter out of my dick.