The Promise I Kept

by Jackie Madden Haugh

  A few hours later, in came a case of Depends, ointments, gauze, bath soap, and novelettes. Hundreds of dollars’ worth of supplies, and all for free.

  Soon after, the social worker, Tracie Pyers, arrived to talk about all the services Mission Hospice had to offer. There was the chaplain who could offer spiritual guidance in times of fear, support groups for me if I became utterly overwhelmed, books to read, music to listen to, and a kind voice on the other end of the phone any time I needed it.

  As Tracie talked to my father, I could see my life was about to change for the better. Not only would I have people in my corner, but my clear-minded father would have other people to talk to besides his daughter. By now, I was sure I’d become rather boring since I never had anything new to say.

  It wasn’t long before Dad and Tracie were discussing the 49ers, Giants, and life in the city. With Tracy being a native San Franciscan too, the two of them talked their Catholic schooling, family, and politics. Dad was extra pleased to hear she was a Democrat. He had a new friend.

  “So, what do you think?” I hoped he was as happy as I with our new situation.

  “Oh, honey, this is great!”

  “Good! You know they have someone who can talk to you about spirituality.”

  “No, I don’t need that.”

  “It’s free, remember. It might be nice to see what it’s all about.”

  With thick eyebrows resting on the bridge of his nose, he grumbled.

  “Dad, what’s wrong? I thought you’d like something like that.”

  “I don’t need anyone trying to convert me.”

  “He’s not going to try to convert you, silly. But you might have some questions about life on the other side.”

  “No, Father Warwick and I covered all that.”

  For the next month, life continued, quiet, uneventful, orderly, but now with a happy peacefulness. The fear I had about loading him in the car all by myself in the middle of the night, like I often did with my mother, was over. Any issues that might occur could be solved with one phone call.

  “Maybe I can do all this after all,” I said to Lauren on her visit home to spend time with her grandfather.

  “Mom, of course you can do this. But sometimes we all need a little help.”

  My world felt lighter. That’s not to say the days weren’t oppressively quiet and long, or that Enemi wasn’t showing severe signs of overwintering. While I had my issues, she definitely had hers. As a mother of four, she’d lost all her boys: the oldest back to her native country, the second to a group home for emotional issues, and the baby to her now former husband. As for her daughter, she too was showing signs of mental illness. Because of her daughter’s rages and violent outbursts, everyday Enemi was worried she may not see her child when she arrived home. It was hard to stay upset with her for I knew she was doing her best, but some days, in my opinion, her best just wasn’t good enough.

  There wasn’t a day that went by that, at some point, I found her wrapped up in blankets hibernating like a bear in January. But knowing the troops were not far helped me to look the other way.

  “Jackie, you’re such a busy girl,” Dad remarked as I threw in another load of laundry. I’d just taken out the trash, scrubbed the kitchen, and swept the floors. “From the time you were little, you’ve always been so busy.”

  “Really?” I asked as I began to fold the warm towels fresh from the dryer. Wanting to hear more about his perspective of his daughter growing up, I put the towels down and sat next to him. “I was just a kid, so I don’t remember. I know I loved playing with my dolls. What else did I do?”

  Patting my hand, he looked away to lasso the memories.

  “You hardly sat still. You know, you never napped. How you drove your mother crazy.” He shifted from side to side in his chair, looking like he was making a hole to hide in. “If you weren’t mothering your dollies, you were skipping in the yard, climbing a tree, or dancing.”

  Pausing for a moment, an affectionate smile curled his lips. “How you loved to dance.”

  “I do remember that. And you were my favorite partner!”

  Looking into his shining eyes, I recalled how I couldn’t wait for him to get home so he could twirl me around the room like Fred did with Ginger, only my feet were glued on top of his. Standing at the picture window in the dining room, ready to perform in my white tutu and pink satin sash, I’d peer into the gray stillness of the day’s fading light, tapping my ballet slipper impatiently.

  “Every night I’d wait for you, and if you were the least bit late, there was hell to pay in the house.” Fluffing the pillow behind his neck, I patted his cheek. “Mom hated it when you were late because I wouldn’t stop bugging her.”

  With a rare belly laugh at the thought of his six-year-old child ranting for the music to begin, he agreed. “Yes, your mother could get cranky if I made you wait too long. Do you remember your first dance class?”

  “Do I remember it? Absolutely! I sobbed the whole way there.”

  My mother thought ballet would be good for me. She knew I loved to dance because of the way I flitted and floated all over the house with scarves in my hands, beads around my neck, and flowers in my hair. It didn’t matter if I had real music or a tune playing wildly in my head.

  “Mom said ballet would give me good posture. I guess I was a little portly back then. All I ever heard her say was ‘Jackie, stick your stomach in and stand up straight.’”

  Remembering how I would have been much more adept at modern dance than ballet, I giggled. “I guess I was too much of a free spirit. Isadora Duncan and I would have been great dancing buddies with the way we both love interpretive movement.”

  “Yeah, that outfit your mother put you in was not your style. What was it? A black leotard and some pink tights? God, how you wailed.”

  “She made it worse by putting my hair in a tight bun. I recalled begging you to step in and save me.” I roared with laughter.

  “Do you remember who took you that day?” he asked, his grin widening.

  “Do I? Yes, you! I think you had to pry my fingers off the car door to take me inside that dark hall at Notre Dame High School where the class was being held. You put my hand on the barre with the other little girls, and then left me!”

  “Well, I didn’t just leave you. First, I had to wipe your nose. How it was dripping.” He chuckled. “But what you don’t know is I went to the back of the room and hid to watch. I never left.”

  “Aw, that is so sweet. I didn’t know.”

  For two years I struggled in that stupid dance class, hating every minute. Unlike the other little girls, I was beyond uncoordinated: my body wouldn’t lend itself to the splits, backbends, or cartwheels. Being raised with brothers, I often felt wrestling was probably the better sport for me.

  Finally, when I turned eight, I was granted a reprieve. Well, more like an expulsion. Excessive talking and ballet apparently aren’t good dance partners, and I was released back into the wild.

  “I’ve always marveled at how you did learn to dance. I can remember every Saturday your nose would be right up against the TV watching American Bandstand.”

  We hadn’t reminisced like this in such a long time. Somehow the door to his memories had been pushed wide open, and it all came spilling out. I loved every minute.

  “Ha! Then, I’d go into my room and practice with my door. I’d tie a rope around the knob and that would be my partner’s arm. Funny to think that without any formal training I became a dance teacher. But I think it’s time I gave it up.”

  Dad’s eyes grew wide with astonishment as if I’d lost my mind. Shaking his head, he asked, “Why? You love teaching those kids.”

  “I know, but it’s been twenty years and maybe it’s time to give someone else the chance to take over. Besides, I can hardly get back up off the floor anymore. It’s not good when a three-year-old has to help you up.”

  Truth be told, the cord that tied all the pieces of my life together was becoming da
ngerously frayed. With Enemi becoming more and more tired, I was picking up her slack. That, along with trying to sell homes, choreograph, teach, set up dancing venues for the kids to perform at, as well as putting together the year-end recital, I often felt like Humpty Dumpty about to crack into a million little pieces, and that I would never be whole again.

  Later that evening, after his rosary, dinner, and pills, I could see he was in a pensive mood. Confused, since he had been jovial and happy earlier, I asked, “Are you okay?”

  With foam dripping out of his mouth as he scrubbed away at the tartar on his teeth, he spat and asked sullenly, “Why would you want to quit? I don’t understand.”

  “My body hurts all the time. Besides, I’m almost sixty. I think it would be better for them to have a younger teacher who was fresh.”

  Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, I could tell by the timid look on his face this was much deeper for him. Then he mumbled, “Is it because of me?”

  While my father was deathly afraid of spending the end of his life in a nursing home, he was even more frightened to think he’d ever be a burden. In my youth, he definitely could be surly at times, cranky at others, even obstinate when he wasn’t getting his way. But, from the moment he moved in, only once did I hear him complain, and it was over the usual—not wanting to spend extra money for his care. It was evident he was working hard on being the perfect house guest so as not to be evicted.

  Taking his toothbrush, I wiped the rest of the drool away with a napkin, put his face in both my hands and reassured him. “Dad, no. Absolutely not!”

  “But if I weren’t here you wouldn’t be so tired all the time.”

  “Don’t you even go there! This is not about you. Sometimes you just need to let go of things in your life so other things can enter.”

  As he started to yawn, I sensed he was worn out from all the stewing his brain had been doing. As I kissed him goodnight, he grabbed my hand and whispered, “I want to be there on your last day of class.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes! You’ll be having some sort of recital, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, but Dad, it will be long and crazy, and you’ll have to sit in your wheelchair.”

  “I don’t care. I want to be there. I was there when you started; I need to be there when you finish.” Holding my hand tighter, he pulled me closer. “I want to be there for the full circle.”

  As I left him to go to sleep, I found myself thinking of all the times my father stood in the background so his family could shine. As we had grown to know each other more intimately over the last few years, I saw that despite the fact he lived his life quiet and humble, my dad had a healthy ego. He knew who he was, and his strengths and weaknesses, but he never bragged about any of his accomplishments. They were all just a matter of fact. He never wanted to bring any attention to himself.

  Instead, the place of honor was reserved for those he loved. He felt no need to be the celebrity of any Madden Family Production. We were the superstars of his masterpiece theater.

  Two weeks later, I hung up the tutu and ended my dance career. No longer would I be skipping around a room with feathers in my hair and glitter on my cheeks with twenty-five kindergartners. Gone were the days of neon leotards and gyrating moves with first and second graders. And never again would the world witness my hip-hop bounces, Zumba wiggles, or creative modern fluidity.

  True to his word, and despite the fact he had to spend two hours sitting in that painful cage that could make him weep with discomfort, my father sat smiling, unable to see, in the midst of a couple hundred parents and grandparents cheering their tiny dancers on, with Jenni by his side. He had stood in the back of a dark room fifty-four years before to watch me begin, and now he was front and center to witness the end. One of many full circles in our life together was complete.

  CHAPTER 19

  Just the Way You Are

  Like holidays and other good things in life, summer came and went with the speed of light. Autumn’s colors of gold and red were popping everywhere. We were still living a world of routine, but it didn’t bother me as much as before. I’d given up trying to have a personal life. It was just too much effort for no results. So I settled into the calm, especially knowing I had the support of hospice whenever I needed it. Even Enemi was cooperating by showing up on time and not racing out before her quitting time. Seeing all was right with the world, I decided I’d try to get away to my cabin for a couple of days.

  I called my brother Tim and requested that he stay with our father. Once that was cleared, I prepared Dad.

  “Hi, Dad,” I sang, bringing in his mail one afternoon. “I’m going to Tahoe tomorrow for a couple of days.”

  Instantly, his face lit up. “That’s terrific! It’ll be good for you to get away. I know how much you love it up there.”

  “Thanks. Tim is coming down to stay. You’ll get to have a nice visit.”

  He was beaming now. The thought of his once wild child taking the time out of his busy schedule obviously brought him joy.

  “Good!” He nodded, the dimple in his chin deepening.

  The following day, suitcase in hand, I found him at the breakfast table with his oatmeal, fruit, and pastry. Since living with me, I added extra sweets to his diet. After all, at ninety-six, what did it matter if he gained a few pounds? Enemi was strong enough to throw an elephant.

  “Dad, I’m leaving in about an hour for Tahoe and Kim said she’d be here with you until Tim gets here. Enemi has an appointment she needs to go to.”

  Looking at his caregiver, he smiled and asked, “Do you get to do something fun too?”

  Spooning another mouthful of oatmeal into his mouth, her gold toothed grin sparkled. “I’m going to see my son in San Rafael.” This was her child who spent his days in a group home for emotionally challenged children. Enemi rarely was able to see him, so she was especially grateful for the time off.

  Dad nodded his approval. “That will be nice for you.”

  “I’ll be back later to get you into bed,” she reassured.

  Then, remembering which Kim I was talking about, my father asked, “Is that your friend with the spiky hair?”

  “Yeah. She hasn’t been here in over three months. Good memory.”

  Suddenly, a frown turned the fine lines on his forehead into crevices. He had something on his mind.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  I sat next to him, thinking there was no way I could leave knowing he was feeling troubled.

  “Dad, something’s wrong. Don’t you like Kim?”

  “I don’t think you should be friends with her.”

  Perplexed, I looked at him. How could he even say that? He’d only met her once. Wondering where the hell this was coming from, I put my elbows on the table and rested my face in my hands to look into his eyes.

  “Why would you say that? I could understand if she was a man. You’ve already made it perfectly clear men and I aren’t allowed to spend time together. Remember? You told me I was done with dating.”

  He put his head down, studying his meal.

  “I should never have said that,” he said at last. “You’re a young, pretty woman. You should try to date.”

  “Okay, then what is it?”

  Swaying his shoulders back and forth, as if he was a dog battling fleas, he huffed and puffed until the reason finally came out.

  “Is she? Is she, uh, a . . .?”

  “Is she a what, a woman?”

  Annoyed, he sat straight up, ready to make his point.

  “I know she’s a woman. But is she a real woman?”

  I threw back my head and convulsed with laughter. “Are you asking if she’s a lesbian?”

  “Yeah, one of those.”

  Now, while my father was open to conversation about just about anything, he was still pretty old-school when it came to what the church said about what was right and what was wrong.

  “You should be ashamed of yours
elf,” I ribbed. “She’s one of my best friends and, yes, she’s gay.”

  “She might be after you.”

  Wanting to get him riled up, I teased, “And would that be so bad?”

  Stunned, all he could say was, “I don’t want you to change.”

  Grabbing his hand for reassurance, I told him he had nothing to worry about. I still liked men way too much. But always looking for a moment between the two of us, I decided not to drop the topic just yet. He may never be swayed when it came to politics, but humanity was a different story, even if the church he grew up with said it should be done another way.

  “First of all, Kim is in a loving relationship with her partner. They’ve been together for many years. But let’s talk about this.”

  Noticing his chin was glued to his chest, I knew I didn’t have too much time to get my point across before he completely checked out.

  “All my life I’ve had wonderful gay friends. People who have been there for me when no one else was,” I said, placing my hand on his cheek. “Let me ask you—do you think someone wakes up one day and says to themselves, ‘I think I’ll change my orientation from straight to gay today’? No, they don’t.”

  He glanced up as I continued.

  “They were born that way. And didn’t God create us all in His image? If you believe that like you say you do, then it doesn’t matter what sexual persuasion we are. It also doesn’t matter if we’re white, black, brown, green, or purple.”

  He was now looking up, softening as my point hit home.

  “Do you remember when we were little, how you and Mom stressed that we should love everyone?”

  When he nodded, I went in for the kill.

  “Even when those black girls beat me up at camp when I was eleven and I wanted to hate all black people, you said that they did a bad thing, but not everyone was like them. That I should forgive and accept.”

  Thinking for a moment, a thread of a smile crossed his lips.

  “And, besides, the church has changed its stance on the gay community. They’re welcome to come to Mass and receive the sacraments now. It’s become inclusive for all.”