Dean Martin and Pop visit Frank Sinatra on the set of Sinatra’s film Some Came Running. The chemistry between these three men both on and off stage was one in a million.
The crew ate every last drop! To my mother’s credit, her soul food creation was not half bad, so I was told, considering it was Lake Tahoe and made by a full-blood Swede.
It was an early March morning and Pop was back resting at his home in a hospital bed upstairs in his master suite. Shirley, Lessie Lee, and I had become skilled bedside nurses. Today we were being given instructions from a home nurse as to how to clean Pop’s trachea tube. In case of emergency, the nurse wanted to be sure we knew how to prevent airway obstruction, impaired ventilation, and infection as well as other lethal complications.
I was a germaphobe. I was pregnant. I was due in a month. It wasn’t just the sickness of it all, it was reality setting in. Dad’s hope of recovery was slim to none. But under no circumstance was my father going to let the fear of death stop us from spending time together. We sat in silence for hours, sometimes just holding hands, sometimes laughing our heads off, sometimes chatting about his nostalgic and heroic past, sometimes just smelling the sweet scent from the eucalyptus trees in his garden oasis. Whatever it was, we cherished every moment.
Lessie Lee announced that Uncle Frank was here. Frank Sinatra, oh my! I knew Pop would be hesitant about his friends visiting him in the state he was. Dad didn’t like being seen like this but Frank would never take no for an answer and Dad would never say “no.”
Uncle Frank entered and had a few comforting words with my father. You could tell he was destroyed by the impending death of his friend. He climbed down the stairs. I followed him down. Uncle Frank was crying like a little kid. I gave him a big bear hug. “How could my best friend be dying?” he said. I took Uncle Frank outside so Pop couldn’t hear. We paced around the circular driveway talking. Satellite press trucks and reporters swarmed outside the guard gate.
I found myself comforting a legend, this tough guy. Uncle Frank saw the tears well up in my face and tried to change the subject. He kept repeating my bachelorette night and how much fun it was. Then he would break down again and say: “Trace Face, oh my God. Smokey’s dying. . . .” As Uncle Frank departed, choked up and in tears—the paparazzi shooting at him through his car—we made a pact to think of Pop as he always was throughout our lives, not as he was now.
I assisted my father downstairs and out to the brick patio surrounded by his favorite lush emerald garden. We walked out together hearing the little wheels of his IV grind against the brick. He was wearing his hospital gown.
“Grab the robe!” my father said. Lord really, Pop—like I would forget the hospital gown was open!
Our talks outside became a daily ritual with Popsicle leading the way. Do we talk today or have silence? It was always his choice. My father was determined to foster strong emotional bonds between us now, to show me how much he loved me, share his most intimate life stories with me, and laugh and share a smile or two. I hovered and perched over his words like a hummingbird ready to lap up sweet nectar.
Today we just laughed. They say laughter is the best medicine and laugh we did. We were cracking jokes, bantering back and forth, good belly laughs, clutching our sides till it hurt. I always hit Pop’s funny bone in just the right way, making him snort and cackle until he had to beg me to stop.
“Pop, remember when you colored your hair with Kiwi shoe polish! It was running down the sides of your face! I laughed my ass off!”
“I had ten minutes till showtime!” Pop was cracking up.
“But Kiwi shoe polish? Really, Pop!”
“Oh, and you never did anything foolish? Every kid wants a dog, right? I buy you a poodle and what do you do? You give it back to me! Now I got this poodle messing up my house!”
“Our gift to you, Pop!” I laughed.
“Charming!” He smiled.
“Listen, Pop, I hate to put a damper on our party, but I got a baby checkup. I’ll be back in the morning. Let me get Lessie Lee or the nurse out here,” I said.
“Okay, Trace Face, but don’t forget I’m ready. I’m gonna learn to change diapers, do bottles, I might even babysit!” Dad said happily.
“Oh God,” I said.
“And, Trace, plan to spend the whole day visiting tomorrow, okay?” Pop said, holding his trach hole.
“Sure. Why, Pop, what’s up?” I said.
“Gasser, chickie baby, we’re going to relive the glory days of the Rat Pack! In honor of Frank. You with me?”
“I’m already packed,” I replied with a big grin on my face.