Angela arrived in the middle of the night. I woke up to find that my father had already taken her over to the hospital and would be back around noon to get me, same as yesterday. I learned all this from a note that my dad had left on the kitchen counter. Beside the note he had placed Grandpa’s large box of Wheaties along with a bowl and spoon. “Rice milk in the fridge,” said a P.S. at the bottom of the note.
I ate some of the stale flakes and wandered out front. I was looking up into the trees at some birds twitching around when Davis came out from his apartment.
He was in full action mode. He had shaved and said he’d switched shifts at work till later and was going over to the hospital to see my grandfather. Did I want a ride?
My dad and I had run into Davis the day before as we were returning from the hospital with the take-out pizza we had gotten for dinner. My dad had filled Davis in on the situation, and Davis reacted the way you would expect, which was basically with disbelief, confusion, shock, and then sadness that seemed to spread out around him. He didn’t say a lot and he declined when my dad invited him to have pizza with us. I couldn’t wait any longer and put the pizza box on the hood of my dad’s car and took a slice. Then my dad grabbed a slice and then Davis took one too. We all just stood around the front yard eating pizza till it was gone, as the air around us got dark.
I hopped in his car. As we drove, Davis started telling me about how my grandfather had helped him out by giving him a place to live. “And he vouched for me at the fish-processing plant, even though he didn’t know me from a hole in the head at that point. He said the only reason he did it was so that he could be sure I had a job so he knew he would get his rent.” He tried to laugh at that. “But he went out on a limb for me.”
It was pretty clear that Davis was still shaken up by what had happened and was in a rush to see Grandpa for himself. Both his hands clutched the wheel as he drove. Apparently Davis had been in drug rehab for a long time. He’d gotten in some legal trouble, too, and he had been trying to get himself sorted out.
“Every day I’m more grateful to that old man,” he said to me. “I can’t imagine what would have happened to me if your grandfather . . .” but he didn’t finish the sentence.
When we turned into the hospital parking lot, he said, “To this day I have no idea why he did it.”
They had moved my grandfather to another floor. The atmosphere here was even heavier than in the last place they had him, if such a thing was possible. You could feel it the second you got off the elevator. It was also much quieter: no buzzing or ringing machines, no one hurrying past with a clipboard and an urgent look on her face, no patients walking up and down the hallway in hospital gowns, stretching their legs, wheeling IVs beside them, no delivery boys with flowers scurrying this way and that.
Grandpa was in room 319—a single room. The door was mostly shut but Davis pushed it open with a soft knock. Angela was in a chair beside the bed and turned to look over her shoulder as we came in. My dad was standing on the far side of the bed.
“Lucy,” he said.
“Davis was coming over anyway, so I hitched a ride.”
“Thanks, Davis,” my dad said.
“No sweat,” Davis whispered. He was staring at Grandpa, who, if anything, looked worse than the last time I saw him. His eyes were still closed, his mouth still hung open at that weird angle, like he was screaming a scream out of the side of his mouth that only he could hear. He seemed to have sunk deeper into himself since yesterday.
Angela got up and hugged me. She said how much I’d grown up and all the typical stuff, which seemed rather weird considering where we were and what was happening, but I guess that’s what people do—cling to the normal things to help them get by.
After a few minutes the three of us left Davis with Grandpa and went to the cafeteria. I wasn’t very full. Both Angela and my dad looked pretty worn out. She had flown all the way from Germany and he basically hadn’t slept in three nights. They each got a coffee and I had an OJ that was absolutely not fresh squeezed. Once we were sitting, Angela started to cry, then she stopped suddenly and got very still. At this point my dad had a funny look on his face pretty much all the time, as if he was just bewildered by life. We all just stared off, each in our own world. It’s an interesting experience to space out when you’re with other people who are spacing out as well. It’s different than doing it alone. It was comforting.
When we got back to the room, Davis was telling Grandpa the story of how he had been arrested while walking down the street in his underwear with no idea how he had gotten that way.
Davis seemed kind of embarrassed when he realized we were there. “It’s his favorite story. I thought it might cheer him up a bit.”
If it did, you sure couldn’t tell. Grandpa hadn’t moved a muscle. But they say it’s good to talk to a person in a coma, because we can’t be sure exactly what they do and don’t hear, so if it was Grandpa’s favorite story, I was all for it.
When Davis had to head off for work, my dad suggested I go back to the house and hang out there; he’d be there in a few more hours.
As we were heading to the car across the parking lot Davis kept saying, “I just can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it.” Davis had known my grandfather for just a little over a year, but Grandpa had such a big effect on his life. By now I had come to the conclusion that Davis was a really cool guy, very gentle. I was glad he had gotten himself straightened out—I guess my grandfather was a pretty good judge of character.
I stopped where I was in the parking lot, right before we got to the car. “Actually, Davis,” I said, “I’m gonna hang out here.”
When Davis drove away I felt very alone. I didn’t go back in right away; I just wandered around outside the building. I plucked some small leaves from the shrubs lining the parking lot, then peeled them down the vein in their center. I used to do that a lot when I was a little kid, trying to get them peeled perfectly. It was an activity that took all of your attention and none of it at the same time. Some cars arrived, some left. I wondered if any people had died inside the hospital since I had gotten there a few hours earlier. I had never really been around death, and now it felt all around me.
Back inside I had to wait a long time for the elevator. When I finally got in, I went to push the third-floor button, but at the last second I saw the sign for the maternity ward on the fifth floor, and I pushed that instead.
Now this was a happy floor—a whole different world from the third floor. There were people smiling in the hallway, old people and young kids; folks carrying balloons, flowers, stuffed animals—there was a general happy energy. I acted as if I knew just where I was going, even though I had no idea, until at the end of the hall I found the room with the massive window where they keep the newborn babies. Six of them lay in little Plexiglas bassinets, all swaddled up. Four were asleep, one was screaming his head off, and the last one was staring off like a tiny, serious alien, maybe looking out through the folds of this plane of reality to that other realm, from whence he had just emerged. For some reason I thought about those stories you always hear about babies who are switched at birth. I hoped all these little guys had been tagged properly and didn’t end up with the wrong parents, only to discover years later that there had been some mix-up, explaining why they alone had red hair in a family of dark-eyed Italians. Life is difficult enough without that kind of screwup.
A man came up next to me and practically pressed his face against the glass. I sneaked a peek at him out of the corner of my eye and saw that he had the biggest grin, and tears were streaming down his cheeks. The look of love. It was difficult, standing there in the presence of such unguarded adoration, to imagine how it could all get so far off track later on.
I wondered if my dad had gone to the hospital to see Thomas when he was born. Did he have tears streaming down his cheeks? What did he feel looking through the glass? I started to get angry at him all over again.
Eventually, I found the stairs and walked down to the third floor. The hallway was as quiet as before, the atmosphere just as heavy. Grandpa’s door was slightly ajar. I thought I could hear my father’s voice, whispering. I figured he was talking to Angela, but as I pushed the door, I saw that he was alone with my grandfather. I was about to announce my presence, but I stopped.
I couldn’t exactly understand what my father was saying at first, but I definitely heard him say, “I’m sorry, Dad.” The first part of the next sentence was lost to me as well, but it ended with, “. . . I couldn’t be the son you wanted.” I stayed back by the door. He said something about them not being a “good fit.” He sniffled and then cleared his throat. Was my dad crying? He cleared his throat again, and I heard him say, “A lot of my best qualities come from you. You need to know that. I wish things had been different between us, but that doesn’t matter anymore. It just doesn’t matter.” From behind, I could see him wipe his eyes. “It’s all okay now,” he whispered. “None of that matters.” He breathed out heavily. “I love you, Dad,” he said through the end of his sigh. Then he said it again. “I love you.” He was rocking forward and back slightly now. He whispered something to my grandfather about not being afraid and that he was free. He said that my grandfather was clear, or something like that. He repeated that a few times, “You’re all clear here, Dad, you’re clear.” I know I shouldn’t have stayed and listened as long as I did, but I had never seen anything like it in my life.
All the anger I had felt for my father upstairs in the maternity ward was gone. I don’t pray a lot but I asked God—if there was a God—to let Grandpa hear what my dad was saying. I crept back out the door.
I was standing in the hall when my father came out of the room a few minutes later. His eyes were red.
“Lucy,” he said. “I thought you went back with Davis.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I changed my mind.”
“What have you been doing all this time?” He blew his nose into some tissues.
“Just hanging around.”
“Let me find Angela. She went for some air. Then I’ll take you.”
“I’ll hang out with Grandpa till you get back.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Of course. I’m not six.”
“I know, Lucy. It’s just . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence. “You’re right, talk to him. He’ll like to hear your voice right about now, I’m sure.”
I went in. The chair was still warm from my dad.
“Hi Grandpa,” I said and waved at him. The other day we had been laughing and chatting about nothing at all, and now it was like he was already dead. I felt guilty thinking that, but I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I didn’t know what to do or say, and then suddenly I just started humming this song my mother used to sing me when I was a little kid. I couldn’t remember the words at first, so I just hummed softly. Then in a rush all the words came back and I was singing, “As he strolled along, he sang a song of a land of milk and honey.” I wasn’t exactly belting it out the way Julie might, but I hoped Grandpa was enjoying it. “Where a bum can stay for many a day, and he don’t need any money. Ohhh, the buzzzzzin’ of the bees . . .” That was my favorite line. I could still hear the way my mother used to make a buzzing sound when she sang about those buzzzzzin’ bees. I started to laugh at that and then I was crying at the same time. I was sad about Grandpa, of course, but also about my mother, and all those times when I was a kid and didn’t realize how nice my life had been.
Angela planned to stay overnight at the hospital with my grandfather, so my dad and I headed home. Since there was still nothing much at the house to eat, we walked into town for dinner. We tried the fish and chips place. The fish was not terrible, for fish, and the fries were delicious, firm and tasty. Night had fallen pretty hard by the time we were done. There were only streetlights on the corners once we got off the main street and we didn’t have a flashlight. It got very dark very fast between the lights.
“Is Grandpa going to die soon?” I asked in the blackness.
“I think so, Lucy, yes,” my father said.
It was not a surprise, given the way the day had unfolded, but still, the news hit hard. My dad had a difficult time getting through the sentence without choking up, and I had a difficult time not bawling right there in the gutter. I was glad it was so dark. When we got back to the house we turned on the TV for a while and then went to bed.
After a few hours I woke up. That was unusual for me. Sometimes it takes a long time for me to get to sleep, but once I’m out, I usually stay out till morning. The house was quiet and I just lay there in the dark for a while. That spot between my shoulders was at me again—feeling all vulnerable. But truth be told, I think all of me was feeling pretty vulnerable at this point. When a long time had passed and I was still wide-awake, I went out in the hallway and saw that a light was on downstairs, shining from the direction of the dining room or the kitchen. I started down the creaking steps, my hand on the banister.
My dad was sitting in the kitchen, at the table. He had a cup of tea in his hand.
“Lucy,” he said. “What are you doing up?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged and took one of the other chairs at the table, across from him. The floor was cold under my feet.
“Do you want a cup of herbal tea?”
“No thanks.”
“It’s funny,” he said. “I’ve never been so tired in my life, and I just can’t sleep.”
Neither one of us said anything for a little while.
“Do you want some cereal? I think it’s all we have. I’ve got to go shopping tomorrow.”
“How long do you think we’ll stay here?”
“I’m not sure, Lucy.”
You could hear the cow clock ticking above the hum of the refrigerator.
“I want to thank you, Lucy.”
“Me? For what?”
“If you hadn’t come up here”—then he cut himself off and gave me a stern look that I wasn’t sure was real or play. “And we haven’t even talked about that yet.” Then he relaxed again. “Then no one would have been here. With Angela away he needed someone. And now . . .” He shook his head a little. “It’s been important.”
He started to get choked up.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Why? Don’t be.” It was a little weird to see my dad start to cry; it’s not something I had a lot of experience with in my life, and now I’d seen it several times in a day.
“I’m surprised,” he started to say, then he had to stop again. He took a deep breath and kind of shook his head. “I’m surprised how emotional I’ve been about it. I mean, we didn’t exactly get along very well, and I hadn’t seen him much, as you know.”
“If you can’t cry about your dad almost dying, what can you cry about?” I said.
My dad laughed. Then I laughed too. I hadn’t intended to be funny, but I guess it came out that way a little. Then I burst out crying.
“Lucy, what is it?” He reached across the table toward me.
I leaned back, away from him. “I think it might be my fault,” I said through my tears, which were starting to come fast and furious. Maybe it was his crying that had triggered mine, but this had been on my mind for days now.
“What is? What’s your fault?”
“Grandpa’s stroke.” I started to breathe heavily. “Him going to die.”
“How could that possibly be your fault, sweetheart?”
“He ate the ice cream.” It was difficult to talk in sentences. “He told me . . . he wasn’t allowed to eat any.” I was almost hyperventilating now.
“Lucy, sweetheart, calm down. It’s okay; what ice cream?” My dad pulled his chair over and he had his hand on my back. “It’s okay, just take a deep breath.”
I tried to calm my breathing for a while. I was still crying hard. “We were at the restaurant and I had ice cream for dessert and he said that his doctor forbid him to eat ice cream anymore. That the dairy was bad for him. Well, he could tell I was disappointed.”
“Why?”
“Remember when we came up here? We went to that ice cream place that night when it was raining and he ate that giant hot-fudge sundae?”
He smiled faintly. “I forgot about that.”
“Really? That’s what I remembered most. I remembered how much he liked that ice cream, and the way it dripped on his chin and how you were so sweet and gave him a napkin.”
My father nodded a little as if he were trying to remember.
“So I was looking forward to having some ice cream with him, then he said he couldn’t, but then he could see how disappointed I was, so he ordered some anyway and ate it. Then he ate mint ice cream at the sushi place. I poisoned him. It was my fault.” I was staring at my father now. My cheeks were soaked with tears. My dad was looking back at me.
“Shhh,” he said softly. “Shhh. Lucy, now you listen to me. There is no possible way that eating a bowl of ice cream caused Grandpa’s stroke. It had been building up for a long time. It’s just one of those things that happen in life sometimes. You heard the doctor say how high his blood pressure had been. An ice cream he had with you had nothing to do with it. Believe me.”
I guess I knew he was right, and now that I’d said it out loud it did seem kind of silly. But it sure had been messing with my head for a while. I leaned back away from my father and sat there for a minute, looking at my hands in my lap. I could tell my dad was still looking at me, but I couldn’t look back at him. He got up and went to the bathroom and came back with some toilet paper. He gave some of it to me to wipe my face and blow my nose. He did the same with the rest.
“Well, look at us,” he said standing over me. “A lot of snot.” He kind of forced a chuckle, and I forced a little one back.
“Gross, Dad.” And we both went up to bed.
When I woke up my room was very bright, and the birds were not singing nearly as much as usual. It must have been late morning. I found my dad at the kitchen table in the same spot he had been in the night before. At least his clothes were changed and he’d had a shower. My grandfather had died.