Until I Say Good-Bye (27 page)

Authors: Susan Spencer-Wendel

BOOK: Until I Say Good-Bye

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Stephanie later described for me how Wesley threw himself on chairsâ“flopping round like a trout,” as she put itâafter being released from the elevator. “He was calmer stuck inside,” Steph said.

Again, that night, I cried myself to sleep.

S
teph's family joined us for the last few days in Captiva. Husband Don, sons William and Stephen, and their girlfriends, Kristi and Kami. The days grew long and lazy. Lounging, swimming, eating, laughing, just being together.

Steph's boys, always so affectionate with their mom, were openly affectionate with their girlfriends in front of her. Which was so dear to see. John and I have been married twenty years, yet I would still feel odd snugglin' with him in front of my parents.

Aubrey relished the fact we had gathered for him. I heard him say to another child: “You know, this is MY vacation.”

He said it not in a haughty way, but in a happy way.

“You know how this is my trip?” he said to me near the end. “Well, there's something I really want to do.”

I bet it's not find a lion's paw, I thought.

“I'd like to go parasailing,” he said.

He had seen people parasailing on the beach. An activity where you essentially strap into a sail behind a boat, and the boat speeds along, lifting you thirty, forty feet aloft in flight.

Mind you, Aubrey is eleven.

“How old do you have to be?” I asked, thinking surely they don't allow children to do such a hazardous thing.

“Just six years old!” Aubrey said, beaming. “They take kids as young as six.”

“Ah! Don't say a word to your brother!”

Aubrey is a small human being, like me, often turned away at rides by height requirements. He's still smarting from his last trip to Sea World, where he was half an inch too short for the roller coasters.

“Is there a height requirement?” I asked, halfway hoping there might be one.

“No!” Aubrey said, thrilled.

Now, Aubrey is no daredevil child. If he was eager to do it, who was I to stop him? Let him try new things, I told myself. Let him experience life. Parasail. Eat chile peppers. Jump off short bridges. Don't fear the alligator in the canal if you do not see it there. Fearing the possible is no way to live.

Aubrey rode in tandem with his cousin, Will, eighteen. I did not go to watch, not wanting the rigamarole of moving me around to detract from his experience. I couldn't see him from my balcony, but I could imagine him out there, flying free, laughing.

I liked the idea of Aubrey out there, soaring without me.

He loved it. For twelve whole minutes, he sailed above the shore. “So high! The people on the beach, they looked about this big,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

“Ack! Were you scared?”

“No. Well .Â .Â . yes, at first. I was petrified.”

Then cousin Will adjusted him, and he realized the harness would hold, and Aubrey relaxed.

And looked around in wonder.

At the green water along the beach, which melded to blue farther offshore. At the smooth dunes in the distance. At the tiny figures on the sand.

And he listened to silence.

“It was so quiet!” Aubrey said. There was just one errant flap on the sail, slapped repeatedly by the wind.

“It was silent except for that,” Aubrey said. “It was so cool!”

I
n the end, there was no chance for a quiet moment to sit with Aubrey. No chance to present Aubrey with my lion's paw. The final chapters of the book we left unread.

It was for the best. The shell, I realized, was an awful gift for Aubrey. I was so focused on my Hollywood moment with him that I forgot what the shell represents in the book: that if you are lucky enough to have one, your parent will return.

I will not return to Aubrey, at least not in the flesh.

But I will, I hope, in spirit. In the things he sees and feels. In the memories we made.

Look for me in your heart, my children. Sense me there, and smile, just as I sensed Panos in that decrepit monastery.

Look for me in the sunset.

All their lives, I have marveled in front of my children at sunsets. “Isn't it gorgeous?” I've gushed.

Now they do the same.

“Look!” said Aubrey recently of clouds glowing gold and pink and orange.

Marina talks of wanting to live in New York City one day. Wesley of being a dolphin trainer, or caring for sea turtles. Their memories already abloom.

I am not gone. I have today. I have more to give.

I know the end is coming, but I do not despair.

I have complete peace that my children will be well cared for. That John, Stephanie, and Nancy will tend their gardens and their souls.

They have promised to take Aubrey to Cyprus to meet his relatives, the ones he looks so much like. They have promised to help Marina with her wedding dress. They have promised to foster Wesley's remarkable drawing talents.

I leave you, my children, the memories of all we enjoyed and discovered.

I leave this book. The one I worked on each day for most of our magical year. Tap, tap, tapping with my last finger, one letter at a time.

M-A-R-I-N-A

A-U-B-R-E-Y

W-E-S-L-E-Y

G-O-O-D-B-Y-E my loves.

Epigraph

Don't cry because it's over.

Smile because it happened.

âD
R.
S
EUSS

Acknowledgments

I
n addition to those named in this book, I would like to thank the invisible people.

The ones who opened worlds for me.

For example, my teachers who inspired learning. I had outstanding ones, including Mrs. Herpel, Mr. Signer, Mr. Trotsky, and UNC professor Dr. Andrew Scott, who helped me land an internship at the United Nations, forever altering my worldview.

And my colleagues at the
Palm Beach Post
, who encouraged me as a writer, investigator, experience seeker.

My sincere thanks go to my coauthor, Bret Witter, who kept rearranging the furniture in the book until it felt right.

And to my agent, Peter McGuigan of Foundry Literary, who took a chance on me, a writer who could no longer type. Wow!

Also of Foundry, Stephanie Abou, Rachel Hecht, and Matt Wise.

HarperCollins editor Claire Wachtel's flinty evaluation elevated the book.

Also at HarperCollins, Rachel Elinsky, Tina Andreadis, Leah Wasielewski, and Jonathan Burnham.

Beyond my every fantasy, Universal Pictures bought rights and may make a movie of this book. My thanks to agent Brandy Rivers, and to producers Scott Stuber and Alexa Faigen.

It is my hope that all those who profit from this story will donate to ALS research.

And you, kind reader, as well.

When I was a child, my mother, Tee, used to stand over me, insisting on better writing. She encouraged as well as criticized.

I acknowledge that no mother knows her child will write a book.

Thank you, Mom.

About the Author

SUSAN SPENCER-WENDEL was an award-winning journalist at the
Palm Beach Post
for almost twenty years. A graduate of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, she holds a master's degree in journalism from the University of Florida. She has been honored for her work by the Society of Professional Journalists and the Florida Press Club, and she received a lifetime achievement award for her court reporting from the Florida Bar. She lives in West Palm Beach, Florida, with her family.

www.susanspencerwendel.com

Bret Witter has collaborated on five
New York Times
bestsellers. He lives in Decatur, Georgia.

www.bretwitter.com

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Credits

Cover design by Nina Loschiavo

“Lift Me Up.” Words and music by Kate Voegele. Copyright Â© 2009 Universal Music Corp. and Communikate Music. All rights controlled and administered by Universal Music Corp. All rights reserved. Used by permission. Reprinted by permission of Hal Leonard Corporation.

“For Good.” From the Broadway musical
Wicked
. Music and lyrics by Stephen Schwartz. Copyright Â© 2003 by Grey Dog Music. All rights reserved. Used by permission of Grey Dog Music (ASCAP).

Photo in “Animals and Expectations” by Gary Coronado,
Palm Beach Post

Photo in “Together” by Moya Photography

Photo in “A Gift to Myself” by Moya Photography

Photo in “Mango Madness” by Greg Lovett,
Palm Beach Post

All other photos courtesy of the author and her family

UNTIL I SAY GOOD-BYE
. Copyright Â© 2013 by Susan Spencer-Wendel. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

EPub Edition Â© MARCH 2013 ISBN 9780062241467

ISBN: 978-0-06-224145-0 (Hardcover)

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