Two by Two(52)

"How is she going to see London?" my dad asked.

"I don't know, Dad."

"Doesn't she want to see London?" my dad pressed.

"I should really call her," my mom fretted.

"You're not going to call her, Mom," Marge said. "This is their  business. I'm sure that Vivian will be back to see London. And even  though she hasn't told Russ when that might be, I'd guess it'll be  within the next week or so. In the meantime, it's probably not the best  time to pepper Russ with a ton of questions or to start making plans. As  you can imagine, it's been a pretty rough week for him."

"You're right," my mom suddenly said. "I'm sorry. It's just such a shock, you know?"

"It's okay, Mom," I said. I watched my dad rise from the couch and walk to the kitchen.

"How are you holding up?" my mom asked.

I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm doing the best I can."

"Is there anything I can do? Do you need help with London?"

"No," I said. "I'm doing okay with that. It's not so hard, now that she's in school."

"Why don't I bring over some dinners for the week? Would that help?"

I knew she felt like she needed to do something. "That would be great," I  said. "London likes your cooking a lot more than she likes mine."

I felt a tap of cold glass against my shoulder. My dad had a beer in  each hand and was holding one out. "For you," he said. "I'm in the  garage if you want to talk."





When I wandered out to the garage twenty minutes later, my dad motioned  for me to sit on a stool while he took a seat on a toolbox. I'd brought  out a second beer for both of us; there was something on my  mind-something I hadn't mentioned to either Marge or Liz-and I wanted  his perspective.

"I don't know if I can do this," I said.

"Do what?"

"Be a single father. Take care of London. Maybe it would be better if London went to live with Vivian in Atlanta."

He cracked open the beer I'd brought him. "I take it you want me to tell you that I'm in agreement with you."

"I don't know what I want."

"That's not your real problem. Your real problem is that you're afraid."

"Of course I'm afraid."

"That's what parenting is all about. Doing the best you can while being  terrified of screwing up. Kids can turn hair gray faster than anything  else, if you ask me."

"You and Mom weren't afraid."

"Of course we were. We just never let on, is all."

I wondered whether that was true. "Do you think I should fight for London like Marge said? If it comes to that?"         

     



 

My dad scratched at the jeans he was wearing, leaving a streak of  grease. "I think you're a damn good father, Russ. Better than I ever  was, that's for sure. And I think London needs you."

"She needs her mom, too."

"Maybe. But the way you've been taking care of her? I know it wasn't  easy, but you just got up and did it, and she's a happy little girl. And  that's what being a dad is all about. You do what needs to be done and  love your kid the best way you can. You've been doing that and I'm real  proud of you." He paused. "Anyway, that's what I think."

I tried to recall whether he'd ever said anything like that to me before but knew that he hadn't.

"Thanks, Dad."

"You're not going to cry are you?"

Despite everything, I laughed. "I don't know, Dad."

"Why are you crying?"

I wiped at a tear I hadn't known was there. "It doesn't take much these days."





CHAPTER 15





One Day at a Time


Unlike my friend Danny, I was around to experience my mom's angst as one  by one, she lost the family with whom she'd grown up. I was thirteen  when my grandfather died, eighteen when my grandmother died, twenty-one  when the first of her brothers passed away, and twenty-eight when the  last one slipped from this world to the next.

In each case, my mom bore the heaviest burden. All four were lingering  deaths, with frequent trips to the hospital while poison was  administered in the hopes of killing the cancer before it killed them.  There was hair loss and nausea, weakness and memory loss. And pain.  Always, there was too much pain. Toward the end, there were occasional  days and nights spent in the ICU, with my relatives sometimes crying out  in agony. My mom was there for all of it. Every night, after work, she  would head to their homes or to hospital, and she would stay with them  for hours. She would wipe their faces with damp cloths and feed them  through straws; she came to know the doctors and nurses in three  different hospitals on a first-name basis. When the time came, it was  she who helped with funeral arrangements, and I always knew that despite  our presence she felt very much alone.

In the weeks and months following that fourth funeral, I suppose that I  thought she would rebound in the way she always had before. On the  surface, she hadn't changed-she still wore aprons and spent most of her  time in the kitchen when Vivian and I visited-but she was quieter than I  remembered and every once in a while, I would catch her staring out the  window above the sink, isolated from the sounds of those of us nearby. I  thought it had to do with the most recent loss; it was Vivian who  finally suggested that my mom's grief was cumulative, and her comment  struck me as exactly right.

What would it be like to lose one's family? I suppose it's inevitable in  everyone's family-there is always a last survivor, after all-but,  Vivian's comment made me ache for my mom whenever I would see her. I  felt as though her loss had become my loss, and I began swinging by more  frequently. I'd drop by after work two or three times a week and spend  time with my mom, and though we didn't talk about what she-and I-was  going through, it was always there with us, an all-encompassing sadness.

One night, a couple of months into my new routine, I dropped by the  house and saw my dad trimming the hedges while my mom waited on the  porch. My dad pretended not to have noticed my arrival and didn't turn  around.

"Let's take a drive," my mom announced. "And by that, I mean that you're driving."

She marched toward my car and after opening the passenger door, she took a seat and closed the door behind her.

"What's going on, Dad?"

He stopped trimming but didn't turn to face me. "Just get in the car. It's important to your mom."

I did as I was told and when I asked where we were going, my mom told me to head toward the fire station.

Still confused, I did as I was told and when we were getting close, she  suddenly told me to turn right; two blocks later, she directed me to  take a left. By then, even I knew where she wanted me to go, and we  pulled to a stop next to a gate that was bordered on either side by  wooded lots. Before us stood the water tower, and when my mom got out of  the car, I followed her.

For a while, she said nothing to me.

"Why are we here, Mom?"

She tilted her head, her eyes seeming to follow the ladder that led to the landing near the top.

"I know what happened," she said. "When Tracey and Marge broke up. I  know she was brokenhearted and that you met her here. You were still a  child, but somehow, you talked her down and brought her back to the  dorms."         

     



 

I swallowed my denials, something easier said than done. Nothing I could say would matter; this was my mom's show.

"Do you know what it's like to think that my daughter might have died  here? When she told me, I remember wondering to myself why she hadn't  called me or your dad. But I know the answer to that, too. You two share  something wonderful, and I can't tell you how proud that makes me. We  may not have been the best parents, but at least we raised you both  right."

She continued to stare at the water tower. "You were in so much trouble,  but you never said anything to us. About where you'd been that night. I  wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I said.

I saw a deep sadness in her expression as she turned toward me. "You  have a gift," she said. "You feel so deeply and you care so much. And  that's a wonderful thing. That's why you knew exactly what to do with  Marge. You took her pain and made it your own, and now you're trying to  do the same thing with me."

Though she trailed off, I knew that more was coming.

"I know you think you're helping, but no matter what you do, you can't  take my sadness away. But you are making yourself miserable. And that  breaks my heart, and I don't want you to do that. I'm getting through  this one day at a time, but I don't have the strength to have to worry  about you, too."

"I don't know if I can stop worrying about you."

She touched my cheek. "I know. But I want you to try. Just remember that  I've made it through one hundred percent of the worst days of my life  so far. Just like your dad, and Marge. And, of course, you have, too.  And how we get through them is one day at a time."