Part one of this story can be found here.
The Message (2 of 4)
12.4.5
It all started yesterday morning. I could tell that something was wrong just from the message that my father had left. He does have a tendency to repeat himself sometimes, but this seemed like an extreme case.
I returned his call and we had, at first, a few minutes of strangely composed conversation. We spoke in hushed tones about rather trivial matters. I believe we simply must have been dreading the part of the conversation that we both knew was coming up. Finally, the stalling ended...
"At 11:25pm last night, your grandmother lost a nine-hour battle..."
This was how the story began. The rest is a bit of a blur. Everything just happened so fast after the phones were placed back in their cradles. I know there was a hectic 90 MPH drive to the airport, and a lot of in-flight drinking. That much I'm sure of.
When I finally stepped into the baggage claim in Ft. Myers last night, I saw my father walking towards me. We met up in an almost business-like fashion. We shook hands, our mouths stretched into grimaces that only mimicked smiles. We said our hellos through heavy breaths and tear-suppressing little coughs.
Shortly thereafter, a security guard showed up to ask my father to return to his vehicle. He was parked in the white zone, which was for immediate loading and unloading only. This man had an abrasive way of barking his commands and kept interrupting as my dad tried to explain himself. I couldn't help but notice how helpless my father looked as I watched him being led back to his car by this orange-clad rent-a-cop. I wanted to jump to his defense, but alas...this was an airport in the post-9/11 era.
When I had finally collected my bags, I headed towards the white zone. I found my father, still inside the airport, chatting with the rent-a-cop about the history of the airport. He turned to me and gave me a glassy-eyed wink to celebrate what he must have considered to be a small victory.
It's amazing how one's demeanor can change when they discover that someone has just lost a parent.
When I awoke this morning, I stopped by my grandfather's room to say hello. I found him sitting on the edge of his bed, with one sock on.
I sat down and talked to him for awhile, as he struggled to put on the second sock. It was difficult to see him like that. He kept telling me how much he loved her, and how much she meant to him. He then spoke about how many health problems he had endured over the years, and asked me why God hadn't taken him first. "I should have been first," he said to me.
It was then that he realized one of his socks was on upside-down. I kneeled down to help him realign it.
I was reminded of a picture I took back in 2001.
It was actually a difficult shot to get. My grandparents have always been the type of people who automatically snap into a standard smile-for-the-camera pose the very second a camera comes into view. I was able to sneak this shot as they recounted the story of how they met. I've always thought it held with it an almost ominous quality.
The way my grandmother looked at him in that picture...
I remember seeing this look on numerous occasions as I grew up. Whenever I saw it, I always got the sense that she was worried about him. I always assumed that she was afraid she'd lose him someday.
Now I wonder if there was more to it. She was always the type to put others ahead of herself. I feel that she may have actually been worried about the opposite outcome. I think she was concerned that she might not always be around to take care of him. I believe she was more worried about what he would do without her.
She had been taking care of him in so many senses for so many years...
I finished fixing my grandfather's sock, and we went on with the day's business. We brought her clothes and jewelry to the funeral home, and set up all the arrangements. Later, we had lunch at the Olive Garden.
When the night was over, I prepared myself for bed. Just before I retired for the night, I found my grandfather sitting in his favorite chair, singing to himself. It was a sweet little love song that ended on the lingering lyric, "Until we meet again..."
Shortly after he finished this refrain, I heard him sobbing softly, saying to himself, "Be a God. Be a God. Please...be a God..."
To be continued...
