June 5
Dear Dad,
A lot has happened since the last time I wrote.
When Josh and I came back from the Caribbean in March, and just after Octavia was born in April, I got pneumonia again. I don’t know how. Everyone cleans everything these days, Josh and I still swab down everything with good old Clorox wipes. Nevertheless, two days after we got back, I had a fever and chills. My O2 sat was crap, so we called Dr. Bennett, and she said to head for the hospital.
I had to be intubated. That is no fun, Father. I hate it, because I’m sedated, you know? It steals time. Plus it worries Josh and Jen and everyone else. I lost four days, but we beat the pneumonia, at least.
I’m on Ofev, which is one of the only medicines that seems to slow IPF down. I’ve been eating organic food only for two years, and I take those Chinese herbs and exercise, and still, Dr. Bennett said my lung function tests were “lower than we’d like,” which sounded ominous. Also, I’ve lost weight, courtesy of a side effect of the meds . . . diarrhea like Old Testament wrath, Dad. Not that you want to hear this, but who else can I tell? Dr. Bennett added another medication, which stopped the weight loss, but it makes me a little dizzy. The steroid inhalers make it a little easier to breathe, but also give me insomnia.
And every time I lose a little lung function, it’s gone forever. IPF is a greedy bastard.
Stephanie, who is the world’s best mother-in-law, got me a Himalayan salt lamp, which is supposed to help with breathing. Let no stone go unturned, right? She’s also big on the healing wonders of Vicks VapoRub, which, let’s be honest, is a miracle drug. I love the smell. She said to rub it on my feet at night. Mrs. Kim agreed, so it must work, because she had four kids and is a nurse, and therefore knows everything.
Sometimes, I have to sleep in the recliner, because being flat isn’t great for me, but I hate to be away from Josh. He (of course) found a special wedge pillow so I could be more comfortable in bed.
I love him, Dad. He is everything a husband should be. Protective, funny, kind, thoughtful, gorgeous (not necessary but it does NOT hurt that he has cheekbones like a Nordic god and a smile that curls up in the corners and makes my ovaries ache. Sorry, sorry, TMI, I know that). But I want you to know how he is. That I couldn’t be in better hands or with a better person.
Work is great. I started designing the interior of the children’s library wing, and what could be more fun than that? Everyone at work is so nice; Santino and Louise and I go for slow walks at lunch, and Bruce is incredibly flexible with my hours. Oh, you’ll love this—Lori Cantore, the only mean girl of the firm, asked Bruce for my office “down the line.” Second time she’s asked! Can you believe that? I said, “I’m right here, Lori. Still alive, sorry to tell you.” Bruce sent her home for the day and told her to cut the shit or find another job. Best boss ever! Still, I hate her. Before I got sick, I’d try to look for some redeeming qualities, but now, forget it. She’s a bitch, and she deserves nothing from me. I may have taken one of her Diet Coke cans and dribbled the remains on the floor by her desk the other night. You can never really clean that kind of stickiness.
Anyway, the thing about getting sick was that Dr. Bennett, Bossy Pulmonologist, told me she didn’t think I should be tackling airports and hotels for a while.
Which is a big bucket of suckiness, Dad. Traveling is one of the things that almost lets me forget I’m sick. And it lets Josh forget, too, at least for a little while. He’s obsessed with finding a cure. I don’t blame him. If he was the one who was sick, I’d do the same thing. But—and this is a big one—I need him to take breaks from that, because otherwise, I’m just a sick person who needs to be fixed. I’d rather be his wife.
So when we travel, he can forget about trying to invent a microscopic fiber-eater that can go into my lungs, or calling every research hospital in the world to talk about drug trials. When we travel, we get to be a happily married couple with a few health considerations. We’d been talking about going to as many of the national parks as we could—Zion and Yellowstone, maybe Denali, in case the pure, cold air would help my lungs.
Dr. Bennett advised against it. For now, she said.
So guess what my husband did, Dad? He rented a crazy-beautiful house on Cape Cod for the entire year! It has five bedrooms so we could have Jen, Darius and the kids whenever we want! There’s a chef’s kitchen, a screened-in porch and three decks, and it’s right on a cliff overlooking the ocean. One serious winter storm could take it out, but hey, for our purposes, it’s perfect. A house on the ocean. Who knew I’d ever be that lucky? We’re going up next week, and I can’t wait.
So your son-in-law is doing his job beautifully, Dad. Just wanted you to know.
Love,
Lauren
That Cape house made Lauren fall in love, not just with the gorgeousness of the place but with her husband all over again . . . and also, with how they could be here.
They went up the first weekend in June and sat on the deck, staring at the ocean, holding hands. Pebbles jumped up next to her, unaware that she wasn’t a tiny puppy anymore. The day was sunny and clear, so peaceful and so full . . . the gentle roar of the waves, the wind that gusted erratically, the birds twittering and chattering in the trees. The air smelled like lilacs and salt and pine needles, and if it could be bottled, no one would need antidepressants ever again.
“I feel more like us,” she said.
Josh looked at her, the sun glinting off his black hair. He would tan in minutes with that olive skin of his, courtesy of his mysterious father. “What do you mean?”
“Well . . . we don’t have doctor’s appointments here. No mail cluttering up the counters—”
“Clutter, Mrs. Park?”
“Dr. Park, you’re a slob.”
“I’m reformed. That shock collar worked great.”
She snorted and squeezed his hand. “You know what I mean. It’s not regular life with appointments and obligations. It’s just us and Pebbles. No schedule to keep.” She leaned over and kissed him softly. “Thank you. I love it.”
“I know not being able to travel hit you hard.”
“Well. This is just as good. Better, even.” Though she felt a pang at the idea of possibly never traveling again, it was definitely muted by this view, the deep blue of the Atlantic, the perfect sky above. “I don’t want to waste time feeling bad about what I don’t have when what I do have is all this. You. Jen, the kids, Miss Pebblety-Pie.”
“Get busy living, or get busy dying.”
She laughed again. “Don’t you Shawshank me.”
“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked over dinner that night. He had to fly to Sacramento for a meeting tomorrow, and Lauren was a little glad. They’d barely been apart since getting married, aside from his three-day medical device conference each fall, and a weekend trip to Vermont she’d taken with Jen. She wanted to be alone here, so close to the sea, in this beautiful house where the sunrise woke her, and she could sip coffee and study the clouds, Pebbles by her side. “I’d feel a lot better if Jen was with you. Or your mom.”
Lauren pulled a face. “Jen just had a baby, and Mom would look at me and cry and tell me how hard this is for her? No, thanks. I’ll be fine, babe. I already called the fire department to let them know exactly where this house is in case of emergency. Sarah’s coming up on Wednesday, and you’ll be back Friday. Relax.”
“I don’t do relaxed.”
She smiled at him, then got up from her chair. “Come to bed, handsome. I’ll relax you. And I’ll clean the kitchen afterward.”
“Winning on all fronts today.” He stood up and wrapped her in his arms, and Lauren felt, as she always did, that this was the best place in the world. Right against his neck, smelling his nice Josh smell, slipping her hands up his lean back, feeling the slide of his muscles. When he kissed her, it was slow and warm, and she felt everything in her rise and lean in
to him, from the hairs on the back of her neck to the tugging deep in her stomach.
They still had this. Desire, attraction, affection, lust . . . and love, that golden light that seemed to wrap around the two of them, shielding them from the outside world.
* * *
WHEN HE LEFT the next day, Lauren savored the house, wandering from room to room, looking out at the ocean in a state of wonder. Pebbles, who took her Australian shepherding heritage seriously, stuck to her heels. Around three, they took a nap, and when Lauren woke up, she checked her O2 sat and found it was on the low side. She put in the cannula and turned on her oxygen, then sat on the deck with a blanket around her shoulders and sipped some wine as she listened to the ocean.
It had been a year and a half since her diagnosis. It seemed longer. In hindsight, she could see that the IPF had been there for years before Dr. Bennett gave it a name. So, assuming it had started around age twenty-three, the first time she could definitively remember feeling short of breath for no reason, she’d been living with this for almost five years.
The life expectancy of most IPF patients was three to five years. But she was young and otherwise healthy, and she was a damn good patient, complying with everything and then some—yoga, meditation, exercise, healthy foods, Chinese herbs, respiratory therapy. So there was plenty of reason to think she’d live years longer. That she and Josh could come back to this house every summer for a few weeks. That they could celebrate her thirtieth birthday here, and her fortieth. She’d made friends with Charlene, another young woman on the IPF forum, and Char had just gone to Australia and swum with dolphins off the Great Barrier Reef. So there.
A seagull drifted down from an air current and landed on the deck post. Pebbles cocked her head but didn’t bark.
Seagulls were lovely. Lauren had never understood why people called them rats of the sky (pigeons held that title, in her opinion). No, seagulls were impressive, flying like no other, diving, fishing, bobbing on the water. Calm and fearless. If she had to pick a Patronus, seagull would be in the running. Maybe part of her experience in the Great Beyond could be seagull-for-a-day.
She didn’t realize she was crying till a tear plopped onto Pebbles’s head. Her fortieth birthday? Who was she kidding?
But maybe . . . maybe she could make it till thirty.
* * *
SHE STARTED WORKING remotely more often. And while Lauren had always loved her job, she loved it even more now. She currently had two projects: one, an easy but satisfying job of creating a lookout in a tiny patch of land the City of Providence had just acquired on College Hill. Though it was a circle of only about thirty feet in diameter, it overlooked the beautiful dome of the capitol building and the rooftops of a few blocks of historic homes. She planned on incorporating a couple of benches, a circular contemplation maze that would encourage people to spend time in the small park, and a raised stone structure in the center. The other project was a new wing in the downtown library, which was a bit more complicated. Bruce the Mighty and Beneficent had just given her that one, and she was waiting on a use study that would guide her design.
She wanted to leave her mark. That was the advice Dad had given her when she was seventeen and wondering what to do as an adult. “Whatever you choose, do with all your heart, and leave your mark,” he said, covering her hand with his. “If you’re going to be a bartender, be the bartender everyone loves to talk to, who invents the best drinks and makes you feel right at home. If you’re going to be a hairdresser, make every customer feel good about themselves.”
“If I’m going to be a fashion designer, make clothes that make people feel happy and confident,” she said.
“Exactly, punkin. Exactly.”
He’d never know how she’d changed majors after his death, wanting something different, something that would benefit the community, not just customers. He’d never see an area she designed.
But they existed, and she had more to do. “Miles to go before I sleep,” she said to Pebbles, who wagged. “And I do mean miles.” Attitude was everything, after all.
The summer spooled out like yards and yards of silk, beautiful and gentle, one day sliding into the next. Like Lauren, Josh could work from anywhere, so he was always here unless she ordered him to go back to Providence for a night. He needed his space, whether he wanted it or not. He needed his punching bag and to see Ben Kim, who understood him like no one else. Lauren knew that, even if Josh wouldn’t admit it.
In July, Jen took a leave from work for two months and brought the kids up for days at a time, much to Lauren’s delight. Josh would give them piggyback rides and take them in the surf while the sisters sat on the beach. When Darius came up, they’d eat late—after Sebastian and Octavia were in bed—laughing and telling stories. Lauren’s mom came sometimes, too, though she had to be cajoled into making the trip. “I don’t want to intrude,” she’d say, or “You girls don’t want me there.”
Whatever. Lauren lacked the energy to convince her mother to come. Not everyone was the type to rise to an occasion, and Lauren just didn’t have the time to beg her mom to . . . mother. Donna had never really been the type who nurtured. That was her dad’s area of expertise, and unfortunately, he was dead.
Sarah and Stephanie came often, too. The Kims spent a week in July and promised to visit again. There was plenty of space, after all. Her sickness had become part of their lives, too, which made things easier. “Grab me another tank while you’re up,” Lauren might say, and Sarah would get the oxygen and attach the hose like a pro. Stephanie, who had once planned on going to medical school, would hand her the Ventolin inhaler before Lauren realized she needed it.
One day, when she and her mother-in-law were alone, opting not to go to Poit’s for mini-golf, Stephanie mentioned that once again, someone had asked her if she’d adopted Josh. “He looks like both his parents,” Steph said. “You just have to look harder to see me in there.”
“Did you love him, Steph?” Lauren asked. “Josh’s father?”
“That bum? No.” She looked at Lauren with beautiful Nordic-blue eyes. “Nope. It was a fling.”
“Did you ever look for him, or tell him about Josh?”
Steph was quiet for a minute. “I tried,” she said. “We were both students. He left for a summer program, said he’d be back before the baby came, and I never heard from him again. I emailed him; his address was defunct.” Steph sipped her water. Like her son, she didn’t drink alcohol. “After Josh was born, I stopped trying to contact him. He had my email. We weren’t hard to find.”
Lauren tried to imagine anyone turning his back on his pregnant girlfriend and just . . . vanishing. “Sounds like he was a spineless toddler.”
“There you go. We’re better off without him.”
“Do you think Josh ever wonders about him?” Lauren asked.
“He used to ask,” Stephanie said. “And I didn’t know exactly how to put it, so I just said, ‘Families come in all shapes and sizes,’ that kind of thing. We had Ben and Sumi. Ben did all those father-son things for school.”
“I love that guy,” Lauren said.
“Yeah. I think Josh liked people asking him if he was Korean when they saw him and Ben together.”
“What was the bio-dad’s background?” Josh could fall into any category—Latino, Asian, Middle Eastern, Roma . . .
“I honestly don’t think we ever talked about it. Like I said, it was maybe a five-week thing. He was from the Midwest. That’s all I remember.” If she knew more, she wasn’t saying.
“It left a mark, of course,” Stephanie continued. “The facts are the facts. Joshua’s father deserted him before he was even born. It’s part of his identity, same as being a high-functioning super-genius with Asperger’s, or autism spectrum disorder, or neurodiversity, or whatever we’re calling it these days. Those terms change so fast. Anyway, are you hungry? I’m starving. Want a grilled cheese
? It’s my specialty, after all.”
The conversation was over, clearly. “Thanks, Steph. I’d love one.” Her mother-in-law did make the best grilled cheese sandwiches, using at least three types of cheese. Otherwise, she wasn’t much of a cook. Steph patted her shoulder as she went in the kitchen, and Lauren opened her notebook.
* * *
ALMOST EVERY DAY, she and Josh drove to the bay side to watch the sunset and let Pebbles splash and swim and sniff (and roll in) the carcasses of fish or birds or crabs. The house had a very convenient and huge bathroom on the ground floor, and they’d designated it for Pebbles’s baths. Josh would hose her down and shampoo her, then blow her dry (spoiled beastie), so Pebbles would be silky smooth and gorgeous and able to sleep on their bed.
Lauren took to waking up early at the Cape house and tiptoeing to the windows to watch the sunrise by herself, letting Josh sleep. She always started the coffee, because it had been her job even in childhood, when she’d get up early and measure out the grounds. Daddy would come in and act so pleased every time. “Who was so thoughtful? Lauren, sweetheart, thank you! Aren’t you the best girl ever!”
She missed her dad with a constant ache. She missed the reassurance, the comfort a good father brings a daughter. She found herself wondering about the moment of his death, if he’d had any warning, any final thoughts. She hoped it wasn’t “Oh shit, that hurts.”
Note to self: Say something profound for your last words.
Her dad felt closer these days. They had more in common now; she would die young, too. She was glad she knew. Sure, sure, a rogue bus could take her out at any moment, but being someone who liked to have a plan, she’d take a diagnosis like IPF over her father’s type of death any day.
Meanwhile, it was impossible not to love life even more on Cape Cod. Was it just the thrill of the ocean, or was her IPF on hold for a bit? She felt good. Stronger. Maybe it was the salt air. Every day, she did gentle yoga on the deck, filling her lungs, visualizing the air having plenty of room, pushing aside the fibers, filling in every available space. Some nights, she didn’t need her oxygen. She knew there was no cure for pulmonary fibrosis, but maybe . . . just maybe . . . it had slowed down.
Pack Up the Moon Page 5