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heart will become overtaxed. It will finally just poop out. This
can take anywhere from three days to two weeks. It is not
always the same." I was shocked that he had used the
expression "poop out" to describe the event that was to
take my mother's life. I said nothing, looking now to my
grandmother.
"Can we go to be with her now?" The doctor wrote down
the room number.
"It will be about an hour or so before we get her set up in
the room. The nurses are working on that now. Why don't
you go and get something to eat? Go talk to your family.
You can come back to the hospital at any time tonight."
My grandma nodded, and reached over again to grab
hold of my hand. "Thank you, Dr. Baker. I know how hard
this been for you too." He nodded and moved his lips in a
way that resembled a serious half-smile. I knew what it was,
an acknowledgement of my grandmother's kind words, but
it just seemed so wrong to be smiling at all during a time
like this.
**********
I cried in his arms for what seemed like hours. Brett held
me, openly and lovingly, as we sat together in the waiting
room. Finally he took my hand and led me to his car. He
then drove me home, where I showered and got some
things together to take back to the hospital with me. I left an
urgent note for my brother on the refrigerator, telling him to
come to the hospital or to at least call. I gave him the room
number. My grandma was going to take care of contacting
the other relatives. I was not sure what to do about my
father, whether or not he should be contacted. I thought it
over and realized that my mother would have wanted him to
know, so I asked Brett to take me over to the Lodge before
we went back to the hospital.
I absolutely hated that place; even the smell of it was
nauseating. I stood at the door, having to first ring a buzzer
and then wait to be let in. The bartender had a button
behind the counter which she pressed which released the
front door. This way it could be observed who was entering,
ensuring that entry was permitted for members only. When
the door lock was released for me, I pushed open the door,
and all of the patrons in the bar turned to see who was
entering. My father was among them. He looked over at me
and then turned back to the bar at which he was sitting, as if
he did not even know me.
I headed straight for him. "Dad, I have to talk to you."
"Well hello. You want a pop?" he asked, not even looking
at me.
"No, it's about mom," I said. I was telling myself not to cry.
I was not going to let him see me cry ever again. "She is in
the hospital."
Finally he turned to me. "What for?"
"She is very bad, Dad. She has had two strokes. Her
kidneys have failed, and she is not expected to make it." In
spite of myself, tears formed in my eyes and started to
trickle down my cheeks. Other than telling Brett, my dad
was the first person to whom I'd had to verbalize this
unbelievably painful reality. "She cannot move, and is not
completely conscious," I added through a cracked, high-
pitched voice.
He looked at me with what I believed to be compassion,
though he did not know what to say or do. He put his hand
on my shoulder. "Are you going up to the hospital?" he
asked.
I nodded. "Well, I just thought I should let you know."
He nodded once again, and then he asked, "Do they
know how long it will be?" I found it odd the way people
deliberately avoided stating things that were painfully
obvious. Instead of asking, "How long before she dies?" he
had said, "how long it will be". It was a euphemism, a soft-
pedaling of something that was horribly difficult to verbalize.
"It could be as short as three day." I was choking on my
words, having to swallow very hard to keep from bursting
into sobs. "-- or it could be longer, as much as two weeks."
"Is someone going to be with you at the hospital?"
This time I nodded. "Grandma."
"Okay ... kiddo, I'm sorry. Please, let me know if there is
anything I can do." He squeezed my shoulder with the hand
he already had resting upon it.
Yeah, you could start being a fucking husband instead of
a goddamned drunk! You could take responsibility for your
family, for once. You could start acting like you even fucking
care instead of sitting in this hell whole day in and day out
for all of your damned life!
"I will. Thanks Dad. I have to go, though. My friend is
waiting for me outside, and I do not want Grandma to be
alone at the hospital. Or Mom."
He did not say anything else, only nodded again. It
seemed to be the safest method of communication with
me. Perhaps it was because he too either did not have the
courage to verbalize his true feelings, or that he did not
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