March 30, 2009
I’ll board the train tomorrow morning. It’s a long but beautiful trip along the coast and for a while inland, but inland in the beautiful countryside. I have books. I have movies. I have a plot for an interesting novel rattling around in my head. Since I have my computer and Scrivener, maybe I’ll spend a lot of time writing.
My mother declared that she doesn’t want my brothers Lloyd and Ralph to know their father is dying. My sister-in-law appealed to me to talk her out of that, because no one thinks that’s right. My mother holds grudges forever. I can understand not telling Lloyd if I look at life through my mother’s eyes. He hasn’t given his father the time of day for many years, even though he lives just a few miles away. Everyone in the family is sure he’s switched from his thirty-year methadone use back to his first love: heroin. A heroin addicts tends to steal from family and he’s not entirely welcomed anymore.
But Ralph? No. She would regret that way too much.
I called my mom. “I don’t want Ralph to quit his job and fly out here. He’ll move in and we don’t want him here,” she said. “Tell him he can visit, but he can’t move here.” So that’s what I did. I explained that Dad has moments when company, even family, irritates him to the point that he’s hallucinating things like packs of dogs walking through the tops of the eucalyptus trees. Just a few days ago, he was going to cut a bright orange outdoor extension cord (plugged in) with a skill saw before my mother stopped him. “But those people have been waiting for me to fix this all day long!” he cried.
This morning I called Mom to tell her that I’d talked to my brother about visiting. I explained how I put it (gently). She says, “Oh. Well. That wasn’t necessary. I think it would be good if he stayed with us. He could help a lot.”
That’s when I remembered why I live 1,300 miles away.
My brother will be there by the time I’m there. He lives in Maui.
“How many days will you be here?” Mom asks. Three days. School starts next week.
“Are you sure you even want to bother coming?” she asks.
I’m sure what she means is, “Everyone else is coming here to stay, but you won’t step up so why even come?” I have chosen to take many deep breaths and remember that she’s under a great amount of stress, but news flash! So am I.
So Lloyd won’t be told by decree, and neither will my father. That’s right. He doesn’t know. She doesn’t want him to know. I am struggling mightily with that because I would want to know. Would you want to know? More importantly, would he want to know?
Hospice called. My mother explained to the woman that she doesn’t want them to tell him he’s dying either.
“But ma’am, if he asks we can’t lie to him,” she said.
“You have to,” my mother declared.
When I talked to Mom this morning I offered to spend at least the first night in a hotel since I’m coming in after 1:00 am. She wouldn’t hear of it, and told me to just sneak in the door. She’ll leave the door open.
“I don’t know where your brother will sleep,” she said. My father was doing something nearby in the kitchen listening to our conversation.
“He can sleep with the fishes,” he said.
“Did you hear that?” Mom asked. “Your dad said Ralph can sleep with the fishes.” Ha. Yeah, I heard it. If he can think clearly enough to make that joke, I think he can understand he’s dying. He might like the chance to say goodbye.
I’ll end this right there.
