by PJ Nakfoor
“Mom, can I get you anything?” Faith said, as she walked into the room.
A chill had settled into my chest and I suddenly craved a mug of peppermint tea.
“Can you please brew me a cup of tea? It’s up in the spice cupboard.”
“Sure, but hot tea on an eighty-degree day?”
I shrugged.
Why, Carl, why? The kettle whistled and Faith poured me a steaming cup. I inhaled the minty fragrance, which was soothing as I let the teabag steep. The question of why Carl waited to schedule the test gnawed at me. As I sipped the tea, I thought it through. Most likely, he was thinking about me and my motivation to complete the CBT steps. He’d wanted me to succeed so badly. He’d always put Faith and me before himself, but this time, it cost him his life.
* * *
The first evening home, Faith made chicken tacos for dinner—a bit spicy for me, but I was grateful for her effort, so I ate one more than I wanted. After dinner, I told her about my conversation with Dr. Sheffield. Like me, she wasn’t surprised, but she expressed some relief that he didn’t suffer for more than a few seconds. I needed to make a decision on the next steps, so I brought up the subject of a memorial service. Years ago, when we wrote our wills, Carl and I had discussed having traditional Catholic Masses, followed by interment. But this idea was daunting to me.
“Faith, I’m in no condition to plan a funeral right now. What should we do?”
Faith thought for a long minute.
“I was wondering the same thing, Mom. I know we’re Catholic, but I think he would want us to wait until you’re further along in your recovery. What would you think about cremation and then a memorial service in a few weeks?”
I hadn’t given that idea any thought. Maybe Faith was right. Carl’s soul had left his body, which was now an empty shell. It made sense. We could have him cremated, save his ashes, and hold a memorial service after I was off the crutches and feeling stronger.
“I think that seems sensible, honey. I guess we need to contact a funeral home.”
“I can do that, Mom. Don’t worry about anything but getting healthy,” she said, her voice sounding parental.
“Okay, that’s settled,” I said with relief.
At that moment, we both erupted into tears—all the fear, sadness and shock of the last several days finally spewing forth. We cried and held on to each other for a very long time.
* * *
I called Shane to fill him in. I had spoken to him briefly just before my surgery, but he would want to know that I was home and recovering. He seemed relieved to hear my voice, and offered to fly out from California immediately, but I thought it would be best to wait until the memorial service. I assured him that Faith was taking good care of me.
“How is your anxiety?” Shane asked. “Or is that a stupid question, given what you’ve been through?”
“Anxiety is at the bottom of my emotional heap. Well beneath sadness, grief, pain and a few others. I’m hoping it’s on a one-way train to someplace far away.”
“Hang in there, Sis. I’m not sure you ever believed it, but I have always seen you as determined and strong.”
“Strong?”
“Yup. If you weren’t, I probably wouldn’t have moved across the country.”
“You had to leave. You promoted your way out of a position here. And you and Luis adore San Francisco, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll keep you updated about the memorial. Love you, Shane.”
“Love you too, Sis. After you’ve had some time, let’s talk about that trip to Rome we dreamed about as kids.”
* * *
Faith called the funeral home and arranged her father’s cremation. His cremains would be delivered in three to five days. In that time, we discussed what kind of ceremony to plan. Carl was a simple man and would want a simple but meaningful service. Faith spent a couple of days going through family photos and videos. She planned to put together a video highlighting Carl’s life to be shown at his memorial. We laughed and cried after looking at our wedding photos, an award ceremony where Carl was honored, multiple years’ worth of Christmas and Easter pictures and a silly one of us dressed up as the Three Musketeers one Halloween. Carl looked ridiculous in an oversized hat and painted-on mustache. Faith remembered that year—it was one of her best memories. We had gathered with neighbors and gone trick or treating as a group. Faith choked up when she found a photo of her eight-year-old self, holding a bluegill on the end of a fishing line, her huge smile revealing lost teeth and innocence.
“Mom, I remember that fish being so big! Was it really that small?”
“You thought it was the catch of the day.”
“Did we actually eat it?”
“Yes, we did, for an appetizer.”
We laughed and reminisced. I found the process healing and promised Faith that all the challenges we’d faced had not been experienced in vain, but instead, would lead us to a fulfilling future.
“I also promise that I’ll do my best to be the mother you deserve.”
Maybe promise was too strong a word. What if I couldn’t keep it? How many times had I broken promises to myself?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
2002-2016
Vivi and Carl spent their honeymoon at Mackinac Island, a charming spot between Michigan’s Upper and Lower Peninsulas. It had once been inhabited by the Odawa tribe and was a strategic center of fur trade around the Great Lakes. The entire island was just over four-square miles in size and was a National Historic Landmark. It showcased beautiful Victorian architecture, quaint hotels and enchanting gardens, and boasted superb restaurants and shops. Motor vehicles weren’t allowed there: local travel was done via horse and carriage, bicycle or on foot. Vivi felt like she had gone back a hundred years the minute she stepped off the ferry. The pair spent four glorious days sightseeing, dining, biking and walking the eight-mile perimeter of the island. She experienced no anxiety—although she was surrounded by the Great Lakes. She felt happy and content.
After moving into Carl’s home, the couple agreed to do some updating and make the place more “theirs.” They bought a few new pieces of furniture: a dining set, a living room couch and some lamps. Carl wanted to keep his La-Z-Boy chair, and though Vivi would just as soon have donated it to Goodwill, she went along with her husband since he asked for so little. They had visions of tearing down some walls to enlarge the kitchen and dining area but decided to tackle that project sometime in the future. Finally, Vivi insisted on having most of the white walls repainted in fresh colors—Slate Blue, Seafoam Green, and Natural Almond. She added pillows, throws, plants, and knick-knacks to make the home feel less stark and more welcoming.
Just after their first anniversary, Vivi discovered she was pregnant. This both thrilled and terrified her. She hadn’t known her own mother, but she’d had Nana, so she certainly understood unconditional love. She and Carl read parenting books, and Vivi relied heavily on the nurse at her OB-GYN office for advice and reassurance. Overall, the pregnancy went smoothly, save for an initial two months of morning sickness. Carl was a supportive father-to-be. He told Vivi how beautiful she was, even at the nine-month mark. He read books out loud to the baby and catered to Vivi during the last uncomfortable weeks, drawing her baths and giving her foot rubs. He even served her breakfast in bed most weekends. Enduring some self-doubt during the pregnancy, Vivi felt confident and ready to become a mother when the time came.
* * *
Faith clamored her way into the world, spirited at once. When Vivi held her and looked at her sweet, pink face, she was overcome with a love fiercer than a typhoon. She silently promised Faith that she would be the mother that she, Vivi, never had. Carl was instantly smitten too. Although a bit awkward at holding the tiny, squirming bundle, he wore the biggest smile Vivi had ever seen.
When the nurse took Faith away to weigh and measure her, Carl said, “We did it, Viv. We’re parents.” He planted little kisses on Faith’s nose and f
orehead.
Vivi wrapped her arm around Carl’s neck and held him close. She whispered into his ear, “And you’re stuck with us forever.”
“Promise?” he asked.
“Promise,” she said, and then lay back and gave in to her exhaustion. Carl sat on the bed, held her hand and watched her as she sank into a deep sleep.
* * *
Vivi loved being a stay-at-home mom. Her days revolved around little Faith, who was totally dependent on her. She tried to nap when Faith did because the baby woke her up once or twice a night for feedings or diaper changes. Carl worked long days and accepted overtime when possible. This made Vivi feel bad, since more couples worked outside the home in the past decade, and fewer relied on a single income. Carl often said he didn’t mind being the bread winner, and that Vivi was doing an important job in taking care of Faith and the house. But she missed her working days at the insurance company. Her colleagues were fun, and she had appreciated having a personable and encouraging boss.
Carl and Vivi had decided that this would be a temporary situation, and that she would go back to work once Faith was in school. They started attending Mass again when Faith was a toddler and occasionally, they asked a neighbor girl to babysit while they went out to dinner or a movie. For a time, Vivi felt like they had become a normal family. Carl often said he was the luckiest man in the world. He had a good job, a pretty and attentive wife who was also a fabulous mother, and a beautiful daughter. “That’s all I really need in life, Viv.”
But Vivi sometimes wondered if his words rang true.
* * *
As the years passed, Faith was finally ready for kindergarten. She went five half days a week, and when Carl brought up Vivi going back to work, she resisted.
“Honey, I think it’s best if I wait till she’s in first grade and in school full time,” she reasoned.
“I suppose you’re right, Viv. It doesn’t make sense to have you work and pay a babysitter also. I can do the overtime for another year.”
Vivi wondered if he was being honest. He’d stopped seeing his buddies, hadn’t played sports or cards in years, and had put on some weight. Besides his family, Carl had only his candy container collection or an occasional jigsaw puzzle to tinker with.
* * *
As the decade moved forward, Faith did well in school, had good grades and made friends easily. Vivi, however, never pushed herself to get a job. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel capable, but she was so comfortable in her routine and her mental health was steady. When she volunteered in Faith’s classroom on reading or art day, she did it without much trouble. If Carl started a conversation about Vivi going back to work, she felt herself become agitated and defensive. He never argued with her, but she’d catch him frowning or crossing his arms, or he’d leave the room in silence. One time she heard him mumble, “You’re not holding up your end of the bargain.” She didn’t want to start a quarrel, so she’d pretended not to hear him. Vivi recognized that her anxiety and resistance to leaving the house had been creeping back into her life for years. Now that she’d created a new comfort zone, she was terrified to step out of it. It was fairly easy to mask that fact, as long as she had Faith to distract her. Staying close to home and school signified how small her world had become. What would it take to stop hiding behind her fears?
* * *
By the time Faith had become a pre-teen, Vivi admitted to herself that she had broken her promise to be the best role model she could be for her daughter. She was reaching a crossroads. The day at the supermarket, and the near-miss car crash was the tipping point. Faith had seen her mother at her worst, and Vivi had put Faith in harm’s way. As horrified and frightened as Vivi had been that terrible day, there was also a spark of relief that lurked deep within her. Like an alcoholic who finally reached rock bottom, Vivi knew with clarity that she was finished letting the agoraphobia control her life. It was time to dig down and rid herself of this thing which had become like the rotten roots of a decaying tree. It was time to plant a beautiful new tree, water and feed it, and nurture it to maturity.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
2020
It had been over a month since my surgery, and I was a thousand-fold less emotionally dependent on Faith, but I had to be physically dependent on her for a couple more weeks. The fractures were healing fine, but I needed to use the crutches until the doctor replaced the cast with a walking boot. Faith cooked, cleaned, and helped me bathe and dress. I could hobble around the house on my crutches, but I couldn’t use my hands for much unless I was sitting. I was weaning myself off the pain medication, but it still made me woozy and unsteady.
Faith and I watched chick flicks or a Netflix series, had conversations about death and life after death, and read through the many condolence cards that reached our mailbox daily. We planned Carl’s memorial service, which was to take place in three weeks. We had his cremains placed in a simple wooden urn with his name, birthdate and date of death engraved on the front. Initially, I couldn’t look at it for more than a few seconds, but now I found comfort having it nearby on a shelf amongst his container collection. Occasionally, I moved it to the kitchen or the bedroom, mostly on days when I felt extra lonely or sad. Carl had always signified security and still did.
Fortunately, Carl had left us a sufficient life-insurance policy, which he must have secured before he was aware of any health problems. He had also sold his J.J. Brainard’s 1923 train candy container at auction for twelve hundred dollars. At times, guilt plagued me as I thought about how hard he’d worked. I spoke with the cardiologist’s office and learned that Dr. Kahn had been concerned because Carl was taking his time committing to the stress test. If he hadn’t worked so many hours… If I had contributed to our finances… If I hadn’t been so selfish over the years… But it didn’t serve a purpose to flagellate myself. Our life together had been meaningful. My amends to Carl would be my moving forward and becoming a strong, self-sufficient woman and a positive role model to Faith.
* * *
The memorial service was to be held in our church, but we didn’t plan a traditional funeral Mass. Fr. David at The Church of the Holy Cross, our parish for many years, recommended a respectful service, then the burial of the cremains if, and when we wished to do so.
Shane and Luis arrived a couple of days before the service. The minute Shane wrapped his arms around me I felt safe and protected. I had been missing the security Carl had woven into our relationship and our family. His constant and steady presence had been the salve to remedy my fragile makeup and I was thankful for each day that I’d had with him. Shane’s hug reminded me that I would always be loved and treasured.
Luis greeted me with a bear hug, then stood back and spun me around.
“Vivi! You still look twenty!” he said, his dark eyes sparkling.
I adored Luis and was thrilled when he and Shane started dating. I had always been supportive of Shane’s coming out, so I was surprised when I felt a twinge of discomfort the first time they kissed in front of me. It took a day or two to get used to their small displays of affection but that changed quickly.
Shane had mentioned that Luis knew his way around a kitchen, but I didn’t know that he’d become a gourmet chef. The two of us sent Shane to the living room on a few evenings and cooked together. Luis immediately assumed the role of “executive chef.” I felt like a guest in my own kitchen when he took a recipe book from me and tucked it into a drawer.
As I pulled out measuring cups and spoons, Luis wagged a finger at me and said, “Not necessary, Viv. I use my sense of taste to be my guide and the more I do, the keener it becomes. You can learn to do the same.”
He made the process of planning, cooking and presenting a meal feel like an adventure. His excitement was contagious! He taught me how to roll and cook stuffed grape leaves, make shrimp pot stickers with scallions, ginger and garlic, and my favorite, chimichurri baked chicken.
One evening after dinner, Faith asked, “How did you and Luis m
eet, Uncle Shane?”
Both men looked directly at me.
“At your parents’ wedding, your mom pulled me away from some coworkers, dragged me over to meet Shane, and then practically pushed us out on the dance floor,” said Luis.
“That’s a bit dramatic, Luis,” said Shane. “The dance floor part never happened.”
We laughed and I became wistful thinking about our wedding day.
Next, Faith wanted to hear about Luis’s job.
“Well, your mom and I worked at an insurance company together before you were born.”
I interrupted, “I thought about setting them up on a blind date, but I didn’t think your Uncle Shane would go for it. He could be aloof at times.”
Luis continued, “That led me to the health insurance industry, and now I work to recruit doctors to join our network.”
“And Uncle Shane, what about your job? I know you’re in the radio business, but you don’t still DJ, do you?”
Again, I horned in, “He outmatched them all for years.”
Shane smiled and faintly blushed. “I’m a program host for WQED radio. I interview guests on the morning show and follow breaking stories. I dabble in some script writing and industry research.”
“Cool! You must meet a lot of celebrities.”
“A few. But it’s not all glam. I’ve been known to clean a toilet or two.”
We had another laugh and any resentment I felt toward Shane’s success was replaced with joy. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. We stared at each other for a minute and without a word, I knew he understood this. He had forged a path and had taken risks with each step of his career. In addition, he had been clean and sober for almost twenty years. Amazing.
* * *
Six weeks after my surgery, Carl’s memorial took place. I dressed in a navy blazer and skirt, paired with a silk peach-colored blouse and minimal jewelry. Faith wore a gray skirt and a gray, black and white floral blouse, and styled her hair in a loose bun. I felt only the normal anxiety anyone would feel at their loved one’s funeral and was surprised how healing it was to see old and new friends, relatives and parishioners. Frank Ashe, Carl’s coworker, gave a surprisingly intimate eulogy which ended on a humorous note. The two had occasionally played practical jokes on each other. The previous Halloween, Frank had brought in “caramel apples” for the staff and offered Carl one first. Carl took a huge bite and his eyes and nose watered immediately, and then he spit out what he could, gagging in the process. Frank had used onions instead of apples. Carl had looked at him and said, “You got me, Frank. But I have an entire year to plan revenge.” The guests laughed, but Frank became teary. It was evident that they had become closer friends than I’d imagined.