“Oh!” We heard a squeal. “Shana. No.”
Richard’s cackling could be heard in the dining room.
“What’s the matter?” Dad called out.
“She ate the frosting off the side of the cake,” June answered.
Since it was my cake, I went to see the damage. At the edge of the small breakfast table perched the Publix cake with blue butter cream roses and ‘Happy Birthday Linda’ written across the top. Several pink and green birthday cake candles had been pressed into the top. Yellow cake shone through the side closest to the edge of the table, all its pretty trim and flowers missing. Shana licked her chops and cocked her head to one side, wondering what all the commotion was about.
“She did not,” my father said loud enough to all of us to hear.
“Did you enjoy it Shana?” Richard said to her while rubbing her behind one ear.
“She certainly did. Come and look,” I said.
“Go sit down,” June rushed me out of the kitchen.
Richard returned to the table unable to stop chuckling and Dad denied his precious poodle would ever do something wrong.
I heard the strike of the match. June began to sing and Dad and Richard joined in. June set the cake in front of me. A third of it was missing. She had cut off the side Shana had eaten and served the rest, candles included.
I made a wish and blew them out while staring at the lopsided cake trying to figure out how to cut it into even slices. Finally I carved out some part square, part triangular pieces of cake. They weren’t pretty but June stood by to scoop the ice cream on top in an effort to smooth things over.
Dad slipped Shana some more butter cream frosting and I pretended not to see. The older I got the harder it was for me to keep quiet about how whatever Dad said was set in stone and June went along with a smile. Especially on a day that was supposed to belong to me.
“Accept what is, let go of what was and have faith in what will be.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Christmas 1990
My Dearest “One and Only”,
My present to you this year is different!
For the next 365 days, you will receive a note saying “I love you because _____.”
For today, I’ll begin by saying “I love you because you are a living example for the kind of person God wants us to be - perfect!”
I love you completely,
Junie
P.S. Shana says she feels the same way.
The call came from June on Christmas Day.
“Your father’s in the Boca Raton hospital,” she said, her voice trembling.
“What happened?” I swallowed a breath and forced the words into the receiver.
“He had a tremendous pain in his stomach. The neighbors took us to the emergency room.” June sounded scared and so was I.
My insides clenched into a ball. Five years ago, Dad had an aortic aneurysm repaired. At the time, they’d lived in Tampa. I flew there and drove June in Dad’s big Cadillac, back and forth to the hospital every day. June never learned how to drive and I had never driven a tank before but she turned the keys over to me anyway.
The doctor discovered the aneurysm during a routine physical. Dad visited his doctor religiously and took pretty good care of himself. He was more sedentary than he should have been since he retired, but he did walk Shana several times a day. The surgery successful, he got back to living a happy life for the next five years. Now this.
I rushed to the hospital, which was about five miles away. June sat in a chair next to him, holding his hand. Dad looked pale and uncomfortable in the hospital bed.
“Hey, how are you?” I tried to sound cheerful but the sight of my father in a too small blue hospital gown barely able to cover his body, tubes dripping a clear liquid into his vein, and a plastic male urinal on his bedside table made me swallow hard. I didn’t need him to worry about anything other than himself but containing my own emotions wouldn’t be easy.
“I’ve had better days, Linny.” He eeked out a tiny smile.
He dozed on and off while June and I whispered so not to wake him. She told me she called the neighbors, not an ambulance to drive him to the emergency room. If June didn’t believe he was in danger of dying by dialing 911, then I shouldn’t worry either. To me though, Dad didn’t look good. This was more serious than June let on.
“Let’s see what the doctor says before we call anyone. Okay?” she said.
An hour or so later, the doctor came in. I introduced myself. He explained Dad’s aortic aneurysm repair was leaking. The surgery to fix it previously had suddenly failed. He assured us it could be corrected in a typical noncommittal tone of voice doctors often use, but it couldn’t be done at this hospital. They didn’t have a qualified surgeon to do the operation. My father would be transferred by ambulance to Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. June and I should go home and pack a suitcase.
The color drained from June’s face.
“Take Shana to Nancy and Doug’s. They’ll take care of her, Junie,” my father’s voice quivered as he spoke. He knew instinctively what June was thinking. Nancy and Doug were neighbors who loved Shana too. She often had play dates at their home even though they had no dogs of their own.
“Or she can come to my house,” I added.
“Nancy and Doug will take her,” Dad spoke emphatically this time.
Even in this time of need, the baby of the family was being instructed to bear all the responsibility but make no decisions. I took his hand, kissed him on the forehead. “We’ll see you in Miami.”
***
I dropped June off at her home and said I’d be back in an hour. At my home, Richard, his mother, Floss and her friend from Pennsylvania, Dr. Mash sat in the living room, in the glow of the Christmas lights, sipping cocktails. Richard loved cooking for holidays. Usually I was the optimistic one and Richard saw the glass as half empty, today his optimism boosted me up. While I was gone he had the table set including three places, one for Dad, June and me. Dad and June’s vodka sat on the bar next to the ice bucket and the liver pate she’d made, frozen and given to me last week waited on the cocktail table surrounded by crackers.
Oh, how I wished I could join them. I loved Christmas, the sights, the sounds, and the smells. Even though Richard had a turkey in the oven, the usual comforting aroma did nothing for me. I told them I was headed to Miami. Dr. Mash offered little consolation even after putting a friendly and less professional spin from his medical perspective. I packed and left them to enjoy the holiday cheer.
Richard and Floss knew and loved Paul. He had a big, jovial, commanding way about him. He’d be fine and they knew it. This was a normal little bump in the road of life. I packed some clothes and a nightgown, kissed Richard goodbye and wished everyone a Merry Christmas.
By the time we arrived at Jackson Memorial, Dad was safely tucked in his bed in the intensive care unit. Nurses whizzed about fussing over him. He told them June and I were coming so they had placed a chair on either side of the bed for us and kept a watchful eye as well as their distance once we sat down.
“They’re going to operate tomorrow morning,” Dad said. “The doctor was here earlier. Seems like a nice fellow.”
“Shana is at Nancy and Doug’s,” June said.
“I told you they wouldn’t mind taking her. She likes them,” he answered.
“How was the ambulance ride? They got you here pretty fast,” I said trying to make conversation with a sick man not knowing what might be appropriate to divert his thoughts from tomorrow’s surgery. I’d been with him in Tampa the first time he had surgery for his aneurysm, navigating hospital waiting rooms and intensive care units. He was seriously ill but he’d get through it this time too. I had to believe that.
I held his left hand and June his right. He winced and then spoke,
“Linny, take ca
re of my Junie for me.” His eyes closed and his head fell back on the pillow.
One of the nurses interrupted before I could answer. Another rushed over and began checking one of the many beeping machines Dad was connected to.
“You must leave now,” Janet, one of the nurses, announced. “Visiting hours are over.”
I squeezed his hand. “We’ll be back in the morning.”
“You can come back at 8:30,” Janet said. ‘Where are you staying?”
“Across the street at the Days Inn,” I answered.
The Days Inn was an old, tired hotel that had seen more than its share of families tense with fear of the unknown. The one and only lamp in between the two beds tried desperately to illuminate the room. What we couldn’t see wouldn’t bother us, like stains on the worn beige shag carpet or holes in the faded olive green bedspreads. Neither one of us would sleep much that night anyway so that we weren’t at the Ritz Carlton was a minor inconvenience.
Visiting hours didn’t start until ten a.m., even though Janet, the nurse, gave us a pass to come in before the rest of the visiting crowds. June and I were both up and ready to go much earlier. This hospital was a busy, inner city, teaching hospital so we’d have to get in line at the door with the rest of the visitors wanting early admission.
We slid into the blue vinyl booth in the hotel diner. June stared at the menu. When the waiter who was also the cook came out from behind the counter to take our order she said, “Toast. And black coffee.”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“Do you have some cream cheese?”
“Certainly, madam.”
June nibbled on the dry toast and sipped her black coffee. I loaded my coffee with cream until it became a perfect light tan color. I never could understand how she could drink it pitch black without anything lightening it up. As I took a bite of my scrambled eggs the front desk clerk came rushing through the door and stopped at our table.
“Mrs. Wright?”
“Yes,” June answered. She dropped the slice of toast and her body stiffened.
“The hospital called. They need you to call them back right away.” She slid a piece of paper across the table in June’s direction. “Here’s the number.”
In the days before cell phones, we relied on pay phones and written messages. June grabbed her purse and headed to the elevator without saying a word. I left ten dollars on the table. When I caught up with her, she was in the room dialing the phone.
Dad had been rushed into surgery. We were to come to the hospital right away.
When we arrived, the large lobby already bustled with visitors. I checked us in with the receptionist. We were told to wait in a seating area near the elevators. Not speaking a word, I watched the color inch out of June’s face with each passing moment we waited not knowing what was happening with Dad. After what seemed like hours, I got the word we could now go to the ICU on the fourth floor.
Janet, the kind nurse from yesterday, greeted us as the elevator doors opened. She escorted us to a small waiting room with pink walls and pink chairs. Someone had taken great care to fan out an array of old, wrinkled magazines on a wobbly coffee table in front of a maroon tweed love seat with perfect circular body impressions on the seat cushions.
“Dr. Simon will be up to see you in a few minutes.” With that she left us to wait.
What is the definition of waiting? To stay where one is or delay action until a particular time or something else happens. We were in the “until something else happens” category. What that would be, neither June nor I could possibly know. The manmade commodity called time, ticked away ever so slowly.
Soon the doctor appeared in the doorway, neat and clean in a freshly pressed white coat. He had a shiny complexion with a hint of a smile. After years of delivering bad news, he’d most likely perfected his facial expression so not to cause alarm at his arrival. He shook my hand and instantly I felt a striking warmth and sincerity about him. He held my hand, not too long, just long enough; he smiled not so big as to appear happy and not too small to seem forced. Even the tone of his voice, calm yet firm struck the perfect balance for a tense situation.
I doubt I understood a single word though, as he explained the operation my father would undergo. June sat up in her chair and seemed to be following each word he said, but June had a long history acting as if she was interested but really wasn’t. She scribbled an unrecognizable signature on the surgery permission document.
The doctor disappeared and we were left to wait once again.
I slipped a year old People magazine out of the display on the table. According to them Sean Connery was the sexiest man alive. I didn’t disagree then and I still don’t. He’s suave and debonair even today. Besides who doesn’t love James Bond? He’s the coolest and always will be no matter which new actor is playing the part. I stared at the pictures, but the captions appeared foggy, my eyes unable to transmit them to my brain.
My mind wouldn’t focus on the words on the page. I flipped through the magazine stopping to look at some ads. June twisted the tissue she kept tucked up her sleeve. The magazines held no interest for her today either. So we sat and waited without speaking a single word, which was unusual for us. When together June and I talked about everything and everybody who crossed out minds. The silence hung thick and heavy between us.
After what seemed like an hour, we began a conversation with another woman who had settled in on the opposite side of the room. Her pleasant voice began to calm us until she started to tell us all about her brother in the burn unit, and all the gory details that went along with a six month long hospital stay. I didn’t want to think about what lay ahead for Dad. He too, could be facing a long hospital stay and rehabilitation. June and I may be exchanging places with woman who longed for relief from her days inside a burn unit. Only time would tell.
A tall young man with a head full of thick dark curls entered the room. He wore green hospital scrubs and white sneakers.
“Mrs. Wright?”
June half-heartedly waved her hand.
“I’m Dr. Weinberg. I’m assisting Dr. Simon with Mr. Wright’s surgery.” He sat down on the rickety table in front of us. I held my breath.
He extended his hand. I shook it while bracing myself for what was to come. Cold and tense.
“We had to clamp off the arteries to both his legs for an extended period of time. Before we can proceed, I need your permission to amputate both legs.”
June’s eyes opened wide with horror and filled with tears. My stomach knotted. The doctor waited for a reply.
“What will happen if you don’t amputate?” I asked.
He wrung his hands, looked down at the floor. I suspected he was an intern sent to get a lesson in bedside manners. Not that I believe a doctor every really becomes comfortable talking to patients during these types of events, but they learn some level of relaxed demeanor in order not to escalate the level of anxiety in the patient’s loved ones. Dr. Weinberg hadn’t yet perfected delivering bad news to strangers.
“We will continue to try to repair the aneurysm but the blood supply has been cut off for so long, the outcome is not looking good at this point.”
I turned to June. “What do you want to do?”
“You decide. His children should decide,” she blotted her eyes with the now damp and shredded Kleenex. “Whatever you think is best, Linda”
That June would defer such a decision shocked me. As Dad’s children we were never consulted about anything between them. Dad and June were a tight knit unit and his children never came in between them. I didn’t know and never thought to ask if she’d called Susan, Martha or Steve. They lived in Ohio and Michigan and being that it’s Christmas would not be able to get here quickly or easily.
Here I am, the only one of his four children available to make any kind of decision with regard to my father. My sense of urg
ency told me the doctor needed an answer now. He couldn’t wait for me to go downstairs to the lobby and use the bank of pay phones to make three separate phone calls to my sisters and brother. My thoughts raced around my mind in a jumbled mess.
Although I didn’t realize it at the time, June asked me to play God. Why? What was she afraid of? I pictured my father without legs. He loved walking his dog and taking a nap on the sofa every afternoon. His hearty laugh and infectious smile would turn sour. Was that how he would want to be? The rest of his life lay in my hands. This was not a job I wanted to have since God and I hadn’t spent much time together lately. It was a choice I’d been told through the years I was incapable of making. I wondered if they’d decided together to let Linny take the reins, not to involve the rest of the kids and take the guilt off Junie’s shoulders.
I turned to June hoping she’d give me a sign, anything that she agreed with me. The last thing I wanted was to cause a rift between us. She, more than I, was headed into the unknown. Our lives were about to change with the next words I spoke.
“Don’t amputate. He wouldn’t want to be confined to a wheelchair,” I said.
The words slid off my tongue, no getting them back now. It was done. June didn’t flinch.
“Do you agree Mrs. Wright?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “We said our goodbyes yesterday.”
He got up quickly and raced out of the waiting room.
I gulped in a big breath and went back to waiting. June did the same. It was our only option. The decision I made careened around my brain and hung heavy on my heart. I waited for it to crash and stop even for a second, so I could look at it, examine it, make sure it was the right decision. It was too late. I had already tossed my words out into the universe.
We didn’t wait long before the nervous intern returned. I could see in his face what he was about to say.
“He’s gone. I’m sorry.”
June let out a yelp, turned and threw her arms around me. Her forehead lay on my shoulder. She sobbed. As I held her, I thanked the doctor for all his help. All I could do was hold her, something I’d never done before. In the blink of an eye we moved from an arm’s length relationship with Dad firmly planted in the middle to one with only the two of us for support. She lost the love of her life that day. He was only seventy-one years old and by all accounts, he left us before he was finished living. The universe moved at a fast pace.
A Bittersweet Goodnight Page 15