—On the 28th of September they suspended the chemotherapy, explaining to Bobby that it might be the chemo, not the leukemia, which was causing the bleeds; explaining further his options: full guns chemo, change the chemo, no chemo. Over the next few days he agreed to a two-month ceasefire to give his body a chance to regroup, rest, rearm enough to sustain him through the next chemo battle.
—“Bob, the problem is we can’t seem to stop the bleeds.”
—“Bob, the problem is you keep spiking these temps.”
—“Bob, I’ve got to be straight with you. There’s only a ten percent chance you’ll survive a full course of traditional chemo.”
—Sunday, October 9th: “Don’t tell him.”
“I know. But he should be told.”
“It’ll kill him. You know how attached ...”
“What if one of the children says ... It would be better if he were told.”
“No. Shit! Poor Josh.”
“You know he couldn’t hear anymore. I’m sure he never heard the car. You know how he was always down there at the road.”
“Yeah. Rodney’s really broken up over it. He blames himself.”
—Monday, 15 October: “Full guns chemo, Bob. Your choice. It’s designed to force the cells to differentiate and mature but it will make you very ill. Nauseous, vomiting, hair loss, and there’s only a ten percent chance ...”
To chemo or not to chemo?
Bobby explained it to Sara, detached, as if he were saying, “One b.l.t. coming up. Mayo or no mayo?”
She couldn’t answer. She let him talk on. “It’s like attacking a hill,” he said. “You attack it because if you don’t, it means eventual defeat and loss of the entire country. But by attacking we risk immediate defeat, yet there is hope for eventual victory. Even if it’s only one percent, you go for it.”
Sara touched her chin, ran her hand down onto her neck. She despised the green walls of his room, the buffed aluminum frame of his bed, the uncomfortable chair for visitors in which she’d spent so many days. If it means ... she thought but she could not say that. She tilted her head, gazed at Bobby. “When?” she asked softly.
“Not till after Thanksgiving,” Bobby said. “When my strength’s up.”
Bobby reached out his arm. Sara grasped his hand. Bobby winked. “You better go,” he said. “It’ll be dark before you hit New York.”
“Um. Guess I’d better.”
“Give me a call when you get in so I know you’re safe.”
“I might wake you.”
“I’ll feel better if I know. Give the kids a hug for me, too.”
Through October, into November, Sara came every weekend. Every weekend she brought the children. They visited twice each day but spent most of their weekend time at the Boyers’. Tony had stayed Monday through Friday in September, but less time as the fall progressed. Don Wagner filled some of the gaps: and Jeremiah Gallagher, and Carl Mariano, Tom Van Deusen, Kevin Rifkin, Rodney Smith, Renneau, Denahee, Fernandez, Bechtel and Hacken. Each pulled his stint at guard, at watch, never leaving Bobby without someone close by.
Through October and into November Bobby’s condition worsened. Some days he read. Some days he wrote letters. Some days he talked with other patients or with official visitors—a local Catholic priest, a national reporter—or with whichever vet was up from High Meadow. But visitors were discouraged. Bobby was technically, if not practically, in reverse isolation. Visitors were required to wear masks, gowns and gloves so as not to expose his frail immune system to worldly viruses. The rules were not enforced and Bobby seldom mentioned it to anyone. Instead he closed his door. A week before Halloween, he began recording the tapes.
Hi Noah. This is your pop. I’m talking to you on a tape recorder at the West Haven VA. Today is Wednesday, October 26th. I’d rather be with you but right now I can’t be and I want to say some things to you I may never have the chance to say.
You are my eldest son and I love you very much. The day you were born was the happiest day of my life. If I close my eyes I can see you and hear you on the day you spoke your first word, the day you first learned to walk holding on to Josh, the first time you went to camp, your first day of school. How proud you were to walk up the steps of the bus that first time. Most recently I think of you at the beach, burying me in the sand, then running for the surf and turning back to me and saying, “Let’s go!” You’re already a great person, a great brother to Paul and Am. Always believe in yourself. Listen to your heart. Noah, you’ve a good heart and a good mind. When someone’s yelling at you for something, judge yourself. Trust yourself. Trust your feelings, Noah. Even if it is Mama yelling at you. You’ve a good soul, a good mind, and a good heart. Look inside yourself for answers.
That’s the essence. Here come the particulars. The drug that I’m about to take might kill me. And if it does, then you’ll have this tape to remember me by. If it doesn’t, you’ll simply never have this tape. There’s so much I want to say to you, because I love you so much. I don’t want my death to be something that ruins your life. I don’t want it to be an excuse for you to not achieve all you’re capable of. Rather it should be a reason for you to succeed. To be the best person you can be. And the happiest. I guess I worry more about you than I do Paul or Am because, well, you are the oldest.
And I guess the biggest problem right now is, I don’t feel I’m going to die. I think this drug is going to work. And I’m going to get better. And you and I, Paulie and Am and Mama, we’ll have a great life together.
One of the most important things I want to say, Noah, is I don’t want to see you in a war. I don’t want you killing anybody. And I don’t want anybody hurting you. That may sound selfish, and people are going to give you arguments about loyalty to country and duty to humanity. You remember this. You remember how sick your Pop was. And you see what loyalty and duty did for him. See how loyal the country was to him when he needed them most. Noah, you don’t have to go into the service to prove to anyone you are a man. You are going to be a fine young man. There is no doubt about it. Should you need to fight, pick your causes and your battles carefully. And be equally careful picking your allies. No matter your strength, no matter your fire power, a weak pointman can lead you into a kill zone.
I hope you stay active in sports all through school. It shows respect for your physical body. And please study. Do your best. It shows respect for your mind.
I don’t have to tell you to love your mother. You do. And you always will. I know that. But don’t forget that you have your own life, too. And don’t be afraid to explore that. I hope that you and Paul and Am will always be friends, and that all of you and Mama will always be a family that helps each other. And if you get married and have children, you can go to Mama’s house and the grandchildren will be there, and that you’re all happy. That’s what I want for you, Noah. I want you to experience the elation of learning and doing, loving and growing, living and expanding.
I want you to remember that you have responsibilities, too. When you get old enough to drive, don’t you do any of that drinking and driving business. And when you’re dating, remember, treat the girls with respect. You have responsibilities. I certainly hope you don’t get any young girl pregnant. That’s one of your responsibilities. There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin when you graduate high school. I was, and you still were born.
I wish I could hold you right now. You’re always the one that comes back for a special hug. You were such a beautiful baby, and are such a handsome boy. And strong! I love you, Noah. I loved you from the moment you were born. I was so proud and so worried that day. You had respiratory distress and had to be suctioned a number of times and I stood by you every time watching over you. Someday you’ll be on your own, standing on your own two feet. And you’re going to do just fine. You’re very fortunate. You have a mother who really cares, who loves you and takes care of you. And you have a brother and a sister who put up with you when you become “the Director.” You�
��re good at that. As you get older you’ll learn how to do that with a lot more class. It’s called selling. And it’s called leadership. Lead by principles. By a code.
I think about all the things that could have been between you and me. All those little milestones in your life when I’d like to be there. When you turn sixteen. When you graduate from high school and college. When you get married. When your children are born. I’d like to be there to see the smile on your wonderful face. To pat you on the back and say, “Way to go, Kiddo.”
I feel so frustrated. I never knew my father. And I want to be a Pop for you as long as I can. I hate this disease, Noah. It’s taking me away from you. It’s stopping me from being a Pop. I made it without a mother, too, so you’re light-years ahead of me. Your mother and I love you so much. We’re rooting for you all the way. I want to be there with you just to see the look in your eye.
This is an important point, Noah. You are worth all the good things that can happen to you. You are worth having a good life. You are worth all the blessings of God. One thing I don’t want you to worry about, you’re not going to get what I have. It is not something that is passed down from father to son. You’re healthy. Agent Orange has not affected you. Don’t worry about it. Just go out there and live your life.
I don’t want to say good-bye. There’s so much I want to say, I could ramble on for hours. I want to hang on, Kiddo. I don’t want to leave you. Don’t blame yourself for what’s happened to me. You had nothing to do with this. Don’t blame God, either. All the good things in the world came from God. You and Paul and Am came into Mama’s and my lives from God. And Mama came into my life, not by some fluke, but she was a gift. When you were little babies people used to say, “What do you do with little babies?” And we’d say, “You cherish them. Ya hug em and you hold em close.” I cherish you, now, Noah. Still. Always. I’d love to see you become a man. I can imagine what you’re going to be like when you’re a teenager. Oooo-weee! It makes me happy right now thinking about you having a great time.
It’s hard to talk right now. There’s a lot of noise in the hall. I feel good today. I think I’m getting better. I want to get better. I don’t ever want to give you this tape. I’d be happy just watching you get up in the morning, making you breakfast, seeing you go off to school. Maybe that sounds boring but to me it sounds like a great life. You know, Mama brought your picture, and Paulie’s and Am’s. It’s on my bedside table. I look at you, at all of you and I say to myself, “There it is! Because of them, I’m going to get out of here.” That’s what you do for me. Because of you and because of Mama, I’m fighting real hard to get better.
You’ve brought so much joy into my life, Noah. I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for being you. I’m not going to say good-bye. I don’t want to say good-bye.
Take care, Noah. Love yourself. Think good things about yourself. I love you.
On Thursday the 27th Bobby made a similar tape for Paul, with specifics just for his second son. In this tape Bobby’s voice was weaker. And he did not mention recovering. On Friday the 28th he made a tape for Am.
... God blessed me with being able to be there when you were born. And it was scary and it was beautiful all at the same time. We counted your fingers and your toes. I counted them for Mama. And I told her you were definitely a girl. And all your fingers and toes were there. And the tears that your Mama cried, the tears of joy. She was so happy. You were so beautiful. And all your fingers and toes were there. You were perfect. You were the prettiest baby born that day. When other parents would come to see their babies they’d see you in the little bassinet in the nursery, they’d point to you and they’d say, “Isn’t that a beautiful baby.” And it’s true. I was in love with you—well, I was in love with you the moment I knew Mama was pregnant. And I fell in love with you again the day you were born. And again the first night I changed your diaper. And the first night you slept in the crib that Granpa made. As a matter of fact, I slept under the crib that night because I was afraid you’d be lonely. Now you’re getting older and I love you even more. I guess that’s why this is so hard. I want to get big and strong for you again. You’re going to be a beautiful young lady and by the looks of it, I won’t be there.
That’s not really true.
I will always be there—my spirit will be with you—never to look over your shoulder but there for you, to give you strength. That is what comes to us and is available to us always from our ancestors and especially from father to daughter. I’ll always be there with you, I’ll always enjoy your pleasures, your joy at having your first child, at winning games, at every achievement—when you have your own company, when you are chairperson of the board, when you are president. Know that when things are tough, when things look bleakest, that I am in you to help you and to give you strength. You are a precious person. You are my daughter.
When I die, my spirit will pass on to you. You will have all my strengths plus all of your own. And because there is Noah and Paul, the strength is multiplied. When I spoke to Noah, on his tape, I said I will miss most of all not watching you three grow up. But I know now that I will not miss that. No, I will always be watching. I will smile with your smiles and cry with your tears as I now know my granpa and granma have watched over me. My wonderful children, if ever you feel sad or weak or down, if ever all things seem to be set against you, dig down, dig deep into yourselves, and you will find strength. There is strength in you that you don’t even know. Some of it comes from me, through me, from the beginning of time. My love for you grows every day and in the next life it will know no bounds.
Mill Creek Falls, 31 October, 6:00 P.M.—They looked like the descending bars of a xylophone. Michelle was dressed as a skeleton, Gina as a ghoul; then Adam, Nate (John and Molly’s boys) and Noah as Ninja warriors; then Paul as He-Man; Am as She-Ra; Johnny as a pumpkin; and finally Mark Jr., the newest Pisano, as either a mummy or a bowl of spaghetti. Mark and Cindy had agreed to take them all trick-or-treating. John and Molly went to get the pizzas. Linda and Tony were alone, setting the table for the return of the masked marauders, ooooing and ahhhing at the costumes of the children who rang their bell. Tony was in no mood for the party, felt guilty not leaving for West Haven, not being with Bobby on this Monday.
“Don’t pour the soda yet,” Linda said.
“Why not?”
“It’ll go flat before they get back.”
“Oh.” Dull. He sounded and felt numb.
“Babe, please don’t pour it.”
“Oh! Geez. I didn’t even realize ...” Tony stopped, stood still, blurted, “What do you think of macrobiotic diets?”
“You’re thinking of Bobby, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve seen some articles that suggest they can be effective. I’ve seen others which say they lack basic nutrients.”
“You know what he said to me? He said he wanted a pine coffin.”
“Oh.” A pause, then, “How’s he looking?”
“He ... he’s wasting away. He’s just wasting away. He’s getting these sores on his arms and in his mouth. There’s nothing left to him.” Tony’s voice dropped off. He began filling the plastic cups with soda again.
“It’s terrible,” Linda said. “It’s a terrible thing.”
“I don’t know....” Tony stopped again, realized again he was pouring the soda. “He said he wanted it lined with burlap. And he said it should be pegged not nailed together and the handles should be pine also. He wants me to make it.”
“His coffin?!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why would he want—”
“So it’ll rot. He wants to be buried near his grandfather and grandmother. Without any concrete vault. So his body might return to the earth and nourish—that’s what he said—nourish future plants and animals.”
“Are you going to do it, Babe?”
“I ... I hate thinking about it. I hate playing his nurse. I hate playing his good buddy. D
o you remember, he used to have blond hair. He used to be really hard. Sinewy. I don’t know what’s keeping him alive.”
“You are, Babe. All of you.”
Sara too was depressed, exhausted. Though she had spent the weekend in West Haven it had almost been as if she’d never left Pennsylvania. The exhaustion was numbing. And frightening. Sunday night, on the way home, with the children in the car, coming up the last stretch of dark road from Eagles Mere, she’d nodded at the wheel, been jarred awake by the tires bouncing in the grass and by the slapping of small branches against the windows.
She sat in the bedroom. The children were with Tony and Linda. She sat, numb, slowly gazing from one object to the next, not actually seeing them, thinking though she did not want to think it, What will it be like after he dies? Will I meet someone else? Someone who doesn’t have all these problems? Oh, what a horrible thought. What a horrible person I’ve become. How could I ... I didn’t even call ... Thank God Jo’s helping. I couldn’t ... Oh God, this cancer has taken over my life too! I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t sleep. How can I teach? How can I bear this cross?
For three weeks all was status quo—the trips, the worry, the prayers, the exhaustion. Except for Bobby. He’d gained a few pounds. His voice was strong, and the sores in his mouth and on his arms were healing. On Wednesday morning, the 23d of November, the day after Am’s fourth birthday, Bobby called his mother.
“Three-one-five-four.”
“Hi. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Who is this?”
“It’s your son, Rob.”
“Oh, Rob. Thanksgiving isn’t until tomorrow.”
“I thought I’d call early. How are you?”
“My condition’s worse. My ankles are swollen. My knees ache. And you know how my stomach is. I went to the doctor’s, three different doctors in the past three weeks. But they can’t find anything. I think they say that so they can do more tests. Did you know that most of the labs are owned by doctors?”
Carry Me Home Page 96