by Justin Sayre
“It’s your grandfather. You need to go right now.”
Chapter 24
By the time I get to the hospital, Zayde’s gone. He’d been feeling strange after lunch, and Aunt Claire said he looked pale. His breathing was bad, but it had been bad for a while. He just needed to sit, but then the sitting didn’t help, so Bubbe called an ambulance. Mom was at another hospital but came down. Dad was already there, trying to help. Aunt Debbie drove in from Connecticut, she was coming in anyway to get something for my bat mitzvah.
When I walk into the hospital, Dad is on the phone in the lobby. He looks up and waves me over for a hug. I don’t know if it’s then that I know. He holds me so tight, I know that something is terribly wrong. We go up to the room. He doesn’t tell me in the elevator. I don’t ask. He just holds my hand. I ask where Hannah is, and he says that Rosalinda is staying late.
The hospital room is dark when I walk in, and I don’t know if I expect him to be there or not, but when I see the empty bed I start to cry. I can’t help it. Bubbe puts her arm around me. Aunt Claire is looking at the window. Aunt Debbie is crying with Mom. Dad says he will go and get us all something to drink. Water. Something.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Bubbe says, trying to smile. “The last thing he wanted to do was ruin your day.”
I wipe the tears away from my cheek, almost shocked. I never thought of it that way. I wouldn’t ever think of it that way. I’d give up my day, my days even, if he could be here. I know I haven’t said a lot about Zayde. He was so sick on this visit, I think some part of me was afraid of him. He looked so breakable all the time. And even a few times on the phone, it was hard for him to talk. But when he did talk, he was always trying to make a joke. Always.
Bubbe and Zayde moved to Florida when I was five, but before that they lived in the apartment where Aunt Claire lives now. I used to go there a lot. Zayde loved having kids in the apartment. He liked toys, I think. He’d buy things for me and my cousins but he’d end up playing with them more than we did. He was funny like that. He was funny in a lot of different ways.
And now he’s gone.
Mom puts out an arm to me. I go to her, and she holds me close. She’s breathing hard from crying. Aunt Debbie strokes my hair as I’m folded into my mother.
“You never got back to me about the napkins, Ellie, honey,” Aunt Debbie says through her tears. We all laugh at that, because of course Debbie’s thinking about napkins. She’s a planner and she can’t ever stop being one. Ever.
“Debbie, give her a second to breathe,” Aunt Claire says from the window, snapping a little.
“Claire, darling. She’s just trying to make a little joke, honey,” Bubbe says. “I think your father would like it if somewhere in all of this we could laugh a little. Don’t you?”
Claire doesn’t answer. She’s quiet again and still looking out the window.
Mom finally lets me go. When I pull away from her, I see how red and wet she looks. Mom is usually always so pretty, but at this moment all of that, even the idea of being put together, is gone. She looks almost broken, and I put my hand on her face to maybe try and pull her back together. She was Zayde’s favorite. He never said this, but she was. His brilliant daughter the surgeon.
Bubbe blows her nose hard, and we all sort of giggle at the fart sound of her nose.
“Ma, have you eaten?” Aunt Debbie asks.
“No, but I will,” Bubbe replies. I can see that she’s looking for something to do, but there’s nothing. There’s no clothes to fold. She’s already signed everything. She’s anxious to fix something in a world that all seems ruined. She sits on the bed and waves me over.
“What are we going to do, Ellie? What are we ever going to do?” She sighs. I go and hold on to her for both our sakes.
Mom sees us and comes over to the bed and brings Aunt Debbie with her. Debbie pulls at Claire. A little tug at first, but finally she grabs her whole arm and pulls her to the bed. All the women of my family are huddled together in this terrible moment, and for the first time on this whole way to becoming a woman, I feel like a baby. I feel like the world is full of things I don’t even know the name for but are being put in my hands. This is pain. This is sorrow. This is loss.
“We’re going to get through this, Ma,” Debbie says. “We’ll get through it all, because that’s what we do.”
“That’s what you do,” Claire spits back. “We’ll have to cancel the bat mitzvah.”
“We can’t.” Debbie is alarmed. “Everything’s booked and people are coming. It’s in three days, Claire.”
“We have to bury our father!” Claire retorts, getting again a little too sharp for the room. “If it’s a question of money . . .”
“It is, but it’s not just that,” Debbie snaps. “You’re making me out to be some sort of villain here and I’m not.”
Bubbe stops them and looks at me. “Ellie, what do you think?”
I look up at my grandmother, whose life is different now, and she’s asking me what I think when I barely know where I am. I say I don’t know, and my mother pulls me close to her again.
Debbie starts making the case for keeping the bat mitzvah on Saturday. We’ll bury Zayde on Friday morning. We can have people to the apartment for shivah. And so many people are in town for the bat mitzvah anyway, it’ll be easier to feed them. Claire answers with all the reasons to cancel. How sad and awful it all is, she’s reminding us, like we’ve forgotten him already. Like we all don’t know that we’re sitting on the bed where he died. Bubbe pipes up to calm them both down again, and then says she thinks we should have the party.
“All he was excited about for the last six months was coming up and seeing Ellie read,” Bubbe says, almost starting to cry again, but catching herself. “I think it would be important to him that she do that.”
I start to cry when she says this part, because I know it’s true. The few times I spoke to him on the phone when they were here, he was always so excited about me reading from the Torah. Zayde had lost family members in the Holocaust, and being Jewish was always a part of him that he was proud of, maybe even proudest. Knowing that I was continuing in the traditions that his family had been a part of for so long, longer than America, was important to him. He was proud of me.
I think this when I say, “I want to do it.”
Bubbe smiles at me and touches my face. “Good.”
Aunt Debbie starts talking about all the things she needs to do, and we all laugh because she’s ridiculous, really, but we’re grateful for it. At this moment, she’s the only one who can think of what happens next.
When Dad comes back with the water, we decide to go back to Aunt Claire’s apartment and order food. We’re all starving. Or at least we think we are. Maybe it’s just a way of figuring out how to do something else. It’s hard to cry with your mouth full.
Mom barely says a word in the cab ride over to the apartment. She adds something to the long list of food we order, but I know from her look she’s never going to eat it. When it comes, she doesn’t. Bubbe notices too.
“You should take your mother home,” Bubbe says to me in the kitchen. I don’t want to leave them. I don’t want to leave this place, where there are still things of his all over. Where we all know how sad and terrible the world is now that he’s gone. I don’t want to go out into a world that doesn’t know that. But I tell her I will. I pull Dad aside in the living room and tell him we should take Mom home. She’s exhausted and we still have to tell Hannah. He starts to get her coat.
We say our goodbyes. Aunt Debbie says she will call me about bat mitzvah things in the morning. I won’t be going to school. Bubbe kisses me and so does Aunt Claire, who’s a lot less quiet, like she was at the hospital.
“You’re going to have a rough couple days,” Aunt Claire says, pulling me close. “But if anyone can do it, you can.” She smiles for the first time today.
We get into a cab and ride the whole way to Brooklyn in almost complete silence. When we get home, Rosalinda is just starting to put Hannah to bed. She runs to me, in just her pajama pants and wet hair. She hugs me, but when she sees Mom, she’s scared almost. Dad thanks Rosalinda and tells her what’s happened. She’s sorry and says so to all of us. She’ll be back in the morning, just to help out.
Dad sits Hannah down on the couch and starts to sign to her about Zayde. I’m holding her on my lap and she turns around to me to understand.
Where is he? Hannah asks me.
I don’t know, I answer. He’s just not here anymore.
And he won’t be? Anymore? Hannah asks.
No. Not anymore, I sign.
She starts to cry, and I tell Dad that I’ll take her up and lie down with her. I carry her up the stairs. Mom barely says a word. I don’t know how to feel about that. I put Hannah in my bed and lie down next to her. She’s still confused. She gets parts of it, thinking it’s like us moving away, but she doesn’t understand why Zayde can’t come back.
I don’t know why either.
We hold each other for a long time like this. I hear my father outside the door, helping Mom go to bed. She’s still not saying anything. I get up and don’t even bother telling Hannah to stay in bed, because I know she won’t. I walk us both to their room and see Mom in bed with all her clothes on. Dad starts to change, and says we all need some sleep. I agree, so I put Hannah in their bed and climb in next to her. Hannah puts her arms around Mom, and I put my arms around Hannah.
We’re a chain, trying to fasten Mom here, but like always, she’s somewhere else.
Chapter 25
Dad takes Hannah to get a funeral dress in the morning. She doesn’t have a lot of black. He’s up and out early, hoping he can find her something and then stop by his office, just to check in. Mom’s staying home. She postponed a surgery. She’s calling people to tell them about the funeral and the bat mitzvah. She’s in the kitchen by the time I get downstairs. She’s not even dressed, which is so unusual, but everything seems a little unreal at the moment. She looks better than she did last night. I haven’t gotten over seeing her like that. I’m not just being a brat; I was actually pretty scared.
It feels a bit like the world has slowed down, but I think that’s just us.
I have about twenty texts but I’m slow to answer them. Noah texts, asking if I’m all right. What happened? I text him back first, to tell him that I’m fine and about my grandfather. It’s strange to write and even stranger to think about. He doesn’t answer, because he’s in school. There are a few messages from Sophie and Ducks, they’ve both heard. Aunt Debbie had to call about the challahs for the bat mitzvah and the cake, so Ducks’s mom found out last night. There’s even a message from Allegra. It’s short and sweet.
Sorry. Hope you’re OK.
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I just don’t. There’s a hey from Charlie. I text him back first and out of nowhere get a response.
Hey
Hey
Are you home?
Yeah. I had a dentist appointment.
You ok?
No.
Wanna talk?
I tell him to meet me on Final Fantasy in five minutes. I walk down into the living room to see Mom in the kitchen on the phone. She’s not crying, but she has been. She’s wearing a robe and pacing on the phone, talking someone through the details of the funeral. I mime to her that I’m going to turn on the TV, and she waves me away to do whatever I need to do. I turn on the TV and then my Xbox. I get on my headphones and plug in. Charlie’s already on.
“Sorry about your granddad,” Charlie says as we start powering up. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I guess. I don’t really know how to feel, you know.”
“Sure,” Charlie says and starts the game.
“It’s so weird. I mean, I know he was sick, but I just thought he would be fine. At least for a little while,” I say as we find a new way to keep a horde of evil robots at bay. “I just wish I had more time to talk to him. You know?” I start to cry a little, and the nice thing about Charlie is that he listens.
Mom’s standing behind me, dialing another number and getting annoyed. I don’t know if it’s all the calling or if it’s just that she’s sad. The more frustrated she sounds, the more I start worrying that it’s me. I keep playing the game and talking a little to Charlie anyway. It’s nice to have some power over something in the world, and it’s great to talk and not have to talk to Charlie. It’s just nice to be with him and blow stuff up.
Mom gets off the phone and then yells at me, “Ellen, please. Can you turn that off? I have a lot to do.”
“I’m just playing with Charlie,” I answer, trying to stay in control for another minute. But she’s huffing now, and talking about me like I’m not in the room, so I tell Charlie I have to go and turn off the game.
“Thank you. This isn’t a time for games anyway,” Mom says from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing even though I don’t know why.
“You know, we’re all trying to make everything all right for you here, Ellen,” Mom says, crossing a name off her list. “It’s a trying time, and I need you to help me.”
“Well, what do you want me to do?” I ask from the couch.
“I don’t know. I know I don’t need you playing video games. You’d think your grandfather didn’t die yesterday,” Mom says, meaner than I think she wants to be. A lump starts up in my throat again. There’s a feeling like I want to fight with her, but I don’t want to do that. I don’t want her to explode. Maybe she should blow some stuff up.
“I’m sorry. I’m here to help. I just don’t know what you want me to do,” I say, getting up and going into the kitchen.
“I don’t need you in here!” Mom shrieks.
“All right,” I’m almost yelling but still trying not to start anything.
“The world’s falling apart and you’re playing games.”
“I was talking to Charlie. I was talking about Zayde,” I yell back. “I’m sad too, Mom. This didn’t happen just to you, and it isn’t happening just to you.” The minute I stop speaking I know I’m in more trouble than I can imagine. I’m starting something with her that will only end in tears and more shouting. But she stops. She just stops and looks at me.
“I know,” she says almost in a whisper. “I’m sorry. This is just so hard for me, Ellen.”
She breaks down a little. She’s so fragile. My strong, accomplished mother hasn’t even combed her hair. She’s in a daze, and she’s getting angry because at least it’s something to feel and something that will push her to make all the calls and take care of everything that needs doing, when I think she just wants to stay in bed. I don’t think she knows what else to do. Looking at her, I just want to hold her. So I do. I go to her and put my arms around her. She’s so tense at first, stiff as I hold on to her. She slowly starts to melt into me and begins to cry in hiccups. She’s sorry for yelling. She’s sorry for everything. She’s sorry she let Zayde die.
“What are you talking about?” That doesn’t make any sense.
“I got there late. I was in surgery and I got there too late.” She cries in my arms. “I’m always working and I’m never working for the people I love. I’m sorry, Ellen. I didn’t even plan your bat mitzvah.”
“I don’t care about that,” I say, trying to calm her down.
“You should. I’m not a good mother, Ellen.”
“You are. You are,” I say slowly, like I’m talking to a baby. And it feels like that a little.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She starts pulling away a little, pulling her broken parts back together. “This is just so hard for me. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Nob
ody does,” I say. “But you’re doing it. You’re figuring it out.”
“I’m not. I’m hiding,” Mom says. “And now I’m going to pick you all up and take you to Cleveland? What am I thinking? Why am I only thinking about my job?” She starts to breathe in deeply and calm herself down. “I need to get it together. I just need to handle one thing at a time.” She starts pulling away and trying to go back to her list, but I’m not done here either, so I just hold on to her stronger.
“But that’s not how it works,” I pull her back. “Life isn’t ever just one thing. And you’re not ever just one thing. You’re a great doctor, and you’re a great mom, but you’re not being either when you just get mad or don’t give the rest of us a chance to be all the things that we are with you. You’re not alone here.”
She smiles at me then, a little smile, and I want to smile back, but I’m a little angry. “It’s awful, for all of us, but the only way it’s not going to be awful is being together. It’s the only way we’re ever going to get through any of this. Go get dressed.”
She looks a little shocked, and she tries to tell me no, but I tell her to go anyway. She needs to shower at least. I call Aunt Debbie and tell her we’re going up to Aunt Claire’s to be with Bubbe and to make the rest of the phone calls.
“That’s a great idea. Bubbe needs the company,” Aunt Debbie says, “How is your mother?”
“Not great. But nobody is. We might as well be not great together.” I smirk into the phone, which makes Aunt Debbie laugh. She says she’ll come by later.
“You’re a doer, like me, you know that?” Aunt Debbie says with a smile in her voice.
“Does that mean I get cafeteria-style tater tots at my bat mitzvah?” I ask her.
“Don’t push your luck.” She laughs before she hangs up.
I call Aunt Claire and tell her we’re coming over. She sounds relieved. I tell her we’ll bring food up or something. I don’t know how but I’m sure between Brooklyn and the Upper West Side, I can figure something out.