A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents Read online

  “You did it, Tia Gwacie!” Emilygrae yells, her arms shooting high in the air as she jumps down from the bench. Mateo gives her a triumphant high five.

  “They have special parks for dogs,” Mateo announces.

  “This isn’t one of them,” I say.

  “She should put that dog in the special park,” Emilygrae adds.

  “I’ll tell that lady where she can put her dog,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Grace,” Leo warns. The kids run back over to the play structure. I settle in next to Leo.

  “ ‘I’m sorry you’re a shitty dog owner’?” Leo repeats with a smirk.

  “They couldn’t hear, could they?” I ask.

  “No… I could kind of make it out, but I’m sure they don’t know half the words you were using.” Leo laughs. My BlackBerry rings from my jacket pocket. I pull it out and check the caller ID. Abigail.

  “Hello?”

  “They’ve called a priest.”

  chapter twenty-three

  Please, Gracie. Please come, hurry,” Abigail chokes.

  “Huston. What about Huston?” I ask, gesturing at Leo to round up the kids. He hops up and bolts over to the play structure. I can already hear their protests.

  “He’s already here. He’s already here. Please, Gracie, we need you here,” Abigail pleads.

  “We’re on our way. We’re on our way.”

  Leo and I finally get to Dad’s room after waiting in the sunroom for Manny’s parents to take the twins. Where, I have no idea, just away from here. Far away from here. John is standing in the hallway already. The priest is just leaving. We’ve seen him around St. Teresa’s before, roaming the halls in a hospital gown and boxers. He’s a patient here, too. As he walks out of Dad’s room, I notice he’s added an elaborate robe and sash to his usual costume, both askew and thrown on. Just underneath? Shower sandals.

  “Hey,” John says, as Leo continues on into the room. John’s eyes lock on mine.

  “What the hell happened?” I whisper. I knew this was coming. We all knew this was coming. But it is still somehow shocking.

  “I don’t know… I don’t know,” John answers, his voice urgent and a little frustrated—as if he should have all the answers. I take his hand. I breathe in… this is what civilized people do. Oh God. Breathe. John and I walk in together.

  “I got a call,” Huston says to Leo, standing at Dad’s bedside, his entire face creased in worry. Abigail is holding on to Manny as she stands on the right side of Dad’s bed.

  “We were here all morning,” I say, taking my place at the end of Dad’s bed, John at my side. Dad looks particularly gaunt today. Particularly weak. Particularly sick.

  “I have the power of attorney. They had to call me first,” Huston explains, stroking Dad’s arm.

  “What happened?” Leo blurts, staring at Abigail and Huston.

  “Dr. O’Rourke noticed that he was looking bloated, so they checked his urine output and it’s just… stopped,” Huston says.

  “Stopped?” I ask, taking in Dad’s shrinking frame. All that talk about speech therapists and physical therapy seems so… naively optimistic now.

  “His body is shutting down,” Abigail finishes, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Manny pulls her close. Dad rumbles into the oxygen mask. His eyes are darting around the room, finding each one of our faces. We are each there for him.

  “Is he in pain?” My voice dipping as I question Abigail, Huston… somebody?

  “I don’t know… Dad? Dad? Are you in much pain?” Abigail asks, leaning down.

  “He answers yes to—” Huston begins, but he’s stunned into silence by Dad’s sudden, but very precise movements in response to Abigail’s question. Dad lifts his body up, looking Abigail dead in the eye, and nods his head yes… yes… yes.

  “You’re in pain, Dad?” Huston presses, knowing what we all know. That if he answers yes to everything, this might be because he’s suffered a stroke. Or is this the real deal? We also know, from our Hospice 101 meeting, that at this stage once Dad starts receiving morphine for his pain… well, it could suppress his breathing and… But Dad was very specific about this in his power of attorney. The plan for the next couple of days was set down years ago in a tiny lawyer’s office in Ojai. None of us were invited to that meeting, but we’re the ones who now have to carry it out.

  The weight of what Dad is asking us to do is overwhelming.

  Dad lifts himself up using Huston’s hand as leverage, gets inches from his face and nods yes… yes… yes. He tries to say something, but it just comes out a rumbling line of gibberish. John’s hand is closed around mine, his arm looped around me. All the emotions. God… he’s pleading with us. Pleading with us to make the pain stop.

  “Go get Sister Carmella,” Abigail instructs Leo. Leo bolts out of the room.

  “We’re going to go find someone, Dad. We’re going to go find someone,” Huston says, leaning down next to Dad.

  Dad nods, nods, nods his way back down on his pillow, closing his eyes once he lands. Like he’s just expended his last burst of energy to tell us how much pain he’s in. Huston looks at the door. Waiting. His eyes are steely and resolved. I watch as Abigail fusses with Dad’s blanket, making sure it’s perfect.

  Is this it?

  “Is everything okay?” Sister Carmella floats into the room, her little Webelos nun outfit clean and crisp.

  “Dad’s in pain. He said he’s in pain,” Huston says, his voice resolute.

  “Raymond? Hello, my son… it’s Sister Carmella. Are you hurting?” I choke out a sob. She’s so gentle. So loving. Oh, God… this is it. I squeeze John’s hand and turn to him. My eyes are pleading with him to answer my question. Is this it? John presses out a smile and pulls me closer. I take a long inhale and steady myself. Resolve myself.

  Dad rears up once more, higher than ever, grabs onto Huston’s hand, stares directly at Sister Carmella and nods, nods, nods. Yes. Yes. Yes. And launches into a passionate tirade of nonsense. Sister Carmella gently rests one of her hands on Dad’s forearm. Listening and nodding her head as he winds his way through his nonsensical speech. He finishes by pointing weakly at his body and nodding yes… yes… yes. He’s hurting everywhere.

  “Okay, Raymond. Okay… I’ll take care of it. We’ll take care of it,” Sister Carmella soothes, smoothing his gray-blond hair. Dad exhales loudly, letting go of Huston’s hand and lying back down. He’s still nodding, nodding, nodding. He’s trying to make eye contact with each of us. We all pull ourselves together and each nod back. Eyes clear, smiles easy, faces calm.

  “We’re all here, Dad,” Huston soothes. Dad blinks his eyes closed, closed, closed.

  Sister Carmella floats out of Dad’s room, no doubt to return with the hospice team. With the morphine drip. How are we supposed to know how to do this? Bury our dad… bury our parents. We watched a video, read pamphlets, and were given phone numbers to call if we had further questions. They used phrases like relief of suffering and dignity for the dying. I guess it doesn’t matter how prepared we thought we were. No field guide in the world could have prepared us. No field guide in the world could make it easier for sons and daughters to say goodbye to their parents.

  Sister Carmella leaves us alone with Dad. We’re all looking around wondering how we landed here. How we got here so quickly. It’s been a little under a week and we thought… well, we thought we’d all make it out alive.

  We didn’t know we were going to leave a man behind.

  But Dad’s ready. He’s ready not to be in pain anymore. He’s ready to stop fighting. He’s ready to be with Mom. He is quiet, seeming to sleep.

  We all stand still. Holding our breath, trying to look anywhere but at each other. My hand is sweaty and clammy in John’s.

  “I thought he was going to make it,” Huston whispers, his face blank and stunned. Abigail lets out the smallest of yelps as she swallows down her sobs. I breathe in, looking at Huston. He looks sixteen again as he clutches at Dad’s hand. His
eyes clear, his face almost mesmerized.

  “We all did,” I answer.

  “You did?” Huston asks, looking up from Dad.

  “Sure.” Abigail’s voice is just above a whisper.

  “I thought we’d have at least twenty more years with him,” I add.

  “Maybe… maybe this is just.…” Leo trails off.

  We fall into silence.

  “I don’t want him to be in pain anymore,” Leo concedes, almost to himself, stepping closer still. The equations are just not adding up in his head.

  “None of us do,” I say, looking up at Leo. I hold my hand out. Leo shuffles over to me and takes it. I get a flash of Mom’s funeral. Huston remains quiet and awestruck. He’s clutching at Dad’s hand as if that will keep him connected to the known world. We’re here again. We’re here again.

  “Kids?” Sister Carmella floats back in to the room to sniffles, runny noses, red eyes and ragged breathing. She’s followed by a young man in a pair of cargo shorts and a polo shirt with the hospice company’s insignia on it.

  We all look up. The hospice man takes Dad’s chart and reads it carefully. I look at Dad. I just… I… I want to shout, “I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”

  But as I look around at his four children, I finally get what love is. It’s not a word you say or something you write in a greeting card. It’s a climate-changing phenomenon. Love… true love… saturates. When you really feel love for someone, the last thing you need to do is say it. It’s not bound by life or death. Dad can feel it. We can feel it. Mom felt it. We don’t have to say anything.

  We’re all covered in it.

  “Do you want to say the rosary?” Sister Carmella offers. The hospice man takes the morphine drip out of a large plastic bin with HAWKES written on the side. Huston lets out a long sigh. I finally let the tears fall. And fall. Dad knows we love him. I can only hope to have this outpouring when I take my last breath. I look around the room in that instant and know that I now will.

  “He’d like that,” Huston answers. Sister Carmella walks up to Dad’s bedside, squeezing next to Huston so she’s closest to Dad’s face.

  “Raymond, you get to go home now. Raymond? It’s okay. You get to fly up to Evelyn now,” Sister Carmella says, loud and clear. She knows our time is limited with Dad and she has absolutely no qualms about being perfectly clear about what’s happening. She needs him to know he’s dying.

  “In the name of the Father…” Sister Carmella starts, making the sign of the cross. We all bow our heads, trying to mumble along with her, sobbing and sniffling. The hospice man hooks the morphine drip onto the now empty metal stand next to Dad’s bed.

  “… The communion of saints.” Sister Carmella’s voice is calm. Dad’s eyes are locked on to Sister Carmella, then over to Huston. The hospice man clips the morphine drip into Dad’s already existing IV.

  “… The forgiveness of sins.” Huston gently holds Dad’s hand, his eyes clear and bright. He stands tall as Dad focuses in on his eldest son’s easy smile. Not one tear falls down Huston’s unwavering face. Strong. Stalwart. Steadfast.

  “… The resurrection of the body.” Dad is blinking, blinking, blinking. Huston holds on as Dad’s eyes close. Leo and Abigail both look up. Abigail sinks into Manny. He cries silently as Abigail pulls at him, her movements angry and violent. Letting go.

  “And life everlasting.” I hold on to John. His face is blotchy, his lips tight and compressed. Leo lets out a long, throaty sob as he squeezes my hand.

  “Amen,” Sister Carmella finishes. I take a deep breath.

  “Our Father, Who art in Heaven; hallowed be Thy name.” Sister Carmella’s hands busily move around her rosary. Dad is quiet. Peaceful.

  The hospice man checks the morphine drip, pressing on the bag, watching the drip-drip-drip, and quietly leaves.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

  chapter twenty-four

  It was really a beautiful service,” the older man says to Abigail as he extends his hand to her.

  “Thank you. Please… make yourself at home. The food and beverages are in the kitchen,” Abigail answers, pointing to her kitchen like a game show presenter. The man nods and moves into Abigail’s house.

  “Who are these people?” I whisper.

  “I think that was one of Dad’s friends, played bass or something,” Abigail says, smiling to a group of black-clad people coming through the front door. She says bass with particular contempt.

  “That was actually his old boss at the newspaper,” Huston says, briefly falling in beside me. He absently smiles to the older be-scarved couple who just walked in. They smile at us with concern. The percentage of “hep cats” in attendance this evening is alarmingly high. And by “hep cat,” I mean an aging gentleman who fancies himself Miles Davis by night and toils in corporate America by day. We can spot these guys easily by their choice of accessories: either an ascot or a tweed fedora. Someone sporting both is an obvious slam dunk.

  “Very touching funeral. The sisters did a great job,” some random woman says to me as I stand next to the fireplace in Abigail’s living room. I look up and see Laura and Slip Is Showing from the office standing red-eyed in front of me. What are they doing here?

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Slip Is Showing says, lunging at me for a hug. Abigail watches the exchange. I pull back from the woman as Abigail extends her hand. I panic, realizing I don’t know this woman’s name.

  “Abigail Hawkes-Rodriguez,” Abigail says, taking Slip Is Showing’s hand. Laura looks on.

  “Evelyn. Evelyn Connor,” Slip Is Showing says. Holy shit. Doesn’t take a team of psychologists—no wonder I could never remember it.

  “Laura Zabala,” Laura says, extending her hand to Abigail.

  “Thank you so much for coming. There’s food and drink in the kitchen,” she says, as the women walk to the kitchen.

  “Hm,” I say, warming to the two women as I watch them pour themselves a glass of wine.

  “Friends of yours?” Abigail asks. We are more than a little exhausted and our demeanors reflect fatigue combined with a punchiness that comes with having nothing to lose. We’ve been through parental loss boot camp—twice—and I don’t know how we’re going to start over, but I do know that we’re going to do it together.

  “Yeah, I guess they are,” I answer.

  “Nice rack,” Leo whispers, leaning over.

  “Really?” I laugh, motioning at the legion of black-clad mourners that surround us.

  “Life-affirming even,” Leo adds, smiling. It feels so good to smile. I hear Huston chuckle, now at the far end of the receiving line. He’s been distant and zombielike since Dad passed away. We’ve all been concerned that he hasn’t really processed what’s happened. Not that we’re ones to talk. I find myself laughing one minute and sobbing the next. Usually in public. Which, I’ve found, can be a bit off-putting to bystanders.

  Huston circles back to us. “I talked to the attorney today,” he starts. We all smile at a passing woman who looks very concerned for our well-being. We don’t know her. We’ve never known her. We smile back and nod, letting her know we’re fine. Fine.

  “And?” Abigail presses.

  “He’s started the probate, filed the necessary papers.”

  “Any word from Connie?” Leo asks.

  “Nothing,” Huston answers in a voice as devoid of feeling as his face.

  “Does she think she’s going to be able to just stay in that condo forever with Dad’s money?” Abigail asks, pointing out the bathroom to an ascoted gentleman with long, stringy hair drawn back into a ponytail.

  “I’m thinking that it really wouldn’t be that bad of a situation. I talked to the attorney today about maybe setting up a trust for her,” Huston admits.

  “What, why?” Leo demands, the tinkling of the ambient music in the background taking some of the edge off his harsh response.

  “She’s his wife, whether we like it or not,” I add, not caring where she lives. Dad’s go
ne. She can’t hurt us anymore.

  “So, she’s rewarded for lying,” Abigail says, taking a long drink of her wine.

  “It’s over,” Huston finishes, his voice distant.

  “It was a lovely ceremony,” a young woman says, shaking each of our hands.

  “Thank you,” we each say, as she grasps our hand.

  “It’s just not fair,” Leo fusses.

  “There’s food and drink in the kitchen,” Abigail says, pointing the woman to where the sweets are.

  “Lovely ceremony,” an older couple says, lovingly shaking each one of our hands.

  “Thank you,” we all say, as they grasp our hands.

  “There’s food and drink in the kitchen,” Abigail repeats, pointing the couple to the kitchen.

  “Then Dad should have divorced her,” I say.

  “Which he didn’t,” Huston adds.

  “So we’re stuck with her?” Leo asks.

  “She’ll be in Ojai. We’ll be down here. I don’t think that’s really being ‘stuck’ with someone,” Huston says soothingly.

  “Beautiful ceremony.” I look up. John.

  “Oh, thank you,” Abigail answers as he pulls her in for a hug.

  “That was a beautiful eulogy; your dad would have been proud,” John says to Huston, pulling him in for a hug. Huston claps him on the back and breaks from him quickly.

  “Thanks, man,” Huston says, his eyes averted.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” another woman says to Huston, as John moves in front of me.

  “You doing okay?” John asks, pulling me in for a hug. I tuck in and smell the starch from his shirt, breathing it in.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, straightening his lapel. John smiles and falls in just next to me.

  A young man approaches Huston. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Huston says, extending his hand.

  “Huston Hawkes?” the young man presses, bringing his hand around.