A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents (31 page)

I understand Abigail’s hesitation at being alone with Dad. When we huddle in groups in Dad’s room, we can hold it together
and stay upbeat. But when we’re alone with him, whether by accident or on purpose, everything comes crashing down. It’s almost
an immediate reaction. Walk into room. See you’re alone with Dad. Start trying to fend off the growing torrent of sobbing
as you end up mumbling something about love and forgiveness under your breath.

Leo and I walked over to the park with the twins soon after. Abigail and Manny thought Evie should go back to school when
it started back up after the holiday. Evie responded to their decision by screaming, “That’s FINE! It’s just that everyone
hates me at that GODDAMN school!” Her great moment fizzled when Mateo responded, “I don’t think everyone even knows you at
that goddamn school.” After many stifled giggles and language warnings, Evie flounced off to her room proclaiming that no
one understood her.

“Should I be doing some sort of penance? I mean, I feel weird about the whole straddling-John-in-a-Catholic-parking-lot thing,”
I ask, noticing Mateo in full conversation with himself on the rickety bridge between spiral slides. There’s much karate-chopping.

Leo laughs. “That’s the most ridiculous sentence I’ve ever heard.”

“I know, right in the middle of it—I was like… stop, STOP,
STOP
!” I respond, laughing at myself.

“It’s the whole life-affirmation thing,” Leo argues, now lost in thought.

“I never really understood that.”

“Well, it wasn’t so much after Mom died, because I think we were all just… well, we all just turned off, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“Roller coasters and skydiving…”

“Piña coladas and getting caught in the rain?” I laugh, finishing Leo’s laundry list of life-affirming activities.

“If you like.” Leo smiles.

“It just seems creepy to even have these feelings with everything that’s happening to… well, with just everything that’s happening…”
I trail off, remembering another night of passion and “life-affirming” activities with John. I can’t help but feel guilty.

“No, it totally makes sense,” Leo says, turning his body toward me. “Mortality gives you this bird’s-eye view of how you’re
living your own life.”

“I can’t even say the word,” I whisper.

“What word?” Leo asks. The word
death
stands like the Reaper himself between us.

“I say mortality, too,” I say.

“Yeah, well.” Leo clears his throat.

“It just seems anti-instinctual.”

“Quite the opposite, in point of fact,” Leo says, his voice becoming passionate.

“If you start singing ‘Circle of Life,’ I swear to God,” I say with a weary smile.

“It’s actually quite relevant,” Leo agrees, his mind now lost in theory. I watch the twins go down the big spiral slide one
after the other.

“And what about you? Any life-affirming relationships?” I ask, channeling Abigail.

“It’s hard to get serious about anyone,” Leo says, his voice distant.

“You haven’t caught this whole life-affirming thing?” I ask.

“It’s almost like I can’t even think about it. You go on a date with someone, then there’s marriage and kids and… I just don’t
have any models for that kind of thing,” Leo says, his voice detached and cold. Always ten steps ahead, working the equation
out way into the future.

“Huston,” I suggest, looking at him.

“I know… I thought of that. I think of him a lot.”

“A kind of ‘What Would Huston Do’ sort of thing,” I joke.

“I’ve got little bracelets and everything. WWHD?” Leo laughs.

“It doesn’t look like either one of you has made any big commitments, though,” I say, getting a bit more serious.

“I know.” Leo’s voice is quiet.

“There isn’t anyone?” I press. Leo looks like he’s about ready to burst. He speaks quickly.

“There’s this really cool physics professor from Delhi. Amazing theories on how th—” Leo stops dead as we both hear the screaming
coming from the play structure. The twins.

We get up and run over to where Mateo is trapped on the spiral slide by an oversized rat of a dog. It’s barking, sniffing
and nipping at the terrified little boy.
Our
terrified little boy. Leo picks up Emilygrae and I swoop in and pick Mateo up from the spiral slide, nudging the dog back.
Mateo’s cries subside as I smooth his hair and tell him it’s okay… it’s okay… it’s okay. The dog is nipping me as I stand there.
Every time its wet nose touches my leg, I get angrier. Mateo was terrified. Mateo
is
terrified. I look around for Rat Dog’s owner.

“He’s friendly! He’s friendly!” A woman in a flowing ensemble of scarves and linen approaches like a gypsy in an open-air
market somewhere in the desert sands of Arabia.

“Come get your dog,” I say, my voice loud and clear. Leo and Emilygrae walk over to the benches. I gather Mateo even closer.

“Oh, he’s friendly!” the woman keeps repeating, getting closer and closer.

“Whether you think your dog is friendly or not has nothing to do with how terrified my nephew is. Just come and get him,”
I say, as the woman wrangles the Rat Dog at my feet. Her scarves and linen don’t quite cover up the doughy roll around her
midriff.

“It’s okay, though. No harm done,” she says, standing up, her dog still not on a leash. The dog sniffs at my feet and charges
up again at Mateo. Mateo squeals and clutches my neck tighter. The woman lets out a little chuckle. I hold Mateo tighter and
closer.

“Can you hold your dog? Leo, can you come get Matty?” I start, yelling over my shoulder at Leo, who’s coming up fast, his
arms wide, ready to engulf little Mateo. The woman pets her Rat Dog, mumbling something about it being friendly and how I
need to “loosen up.” I hand Mateo over to Leo and wait. Wait for them to get out of earshot.

“I’m sorry your boy doesn’t like dogs,” the woman finally offers as some kind of backward attempt at an apology.

“What are you thinking? This isn’t your backyard, lady. This isn’t even a dog park,” I start, stepping toward her.

“You don’t need to—” The woman’s face flushes red.

“What I
need
to do is go see if that little boy is okay after your dumb-ass dog traumatized him. That’s what I
need
to do,” I spit.

“My dumb-a—” the woman repeats.

“Leash your dog up and get out of here. We clear?” I say, inches from her face.

“I… I’m sorry your boy was upset,” the woman mutters.

“I’m sorry you’re a shitty dog owner,” I say, staring her down. Unblinking, I rest my hands at my hips and wait. The woman
pulls a tiny pink leash from a quilted fanny pack pulled taut at her waist. She clips the leash on the Rat Dog’s collar and
starts off across the sand.

“Your language…” the woman starts.

“My language? Your dog mauls my nephew and you’re worried about my goddamn language?!” I say, stepping forward again.

“He didn’t
maul
him,” the woman whispers as she hurries out of the sand pit toward the path that leads out of the park. I can see her mouthing
something to Rat Dog—something about the “mean lady.”

“Have a great day!!” I yell, giving a big wave to the woman. I look over at the benches where Leo and the kids are watching.
I give a big smile to Mateo and he beams back at me, giving me a giant thumbs-up. My smile gets even bigger.

“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.”

P
lease, 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.