Inever was a believer. My parents were nominally Methodist; we almost never went to church. I became an agnostic when I went off tocollege, and then an atheist after my first cadaver dissection in med school.People are just meat.
Thepoint was moot once I met Gracie. She was a staunch Catholic from a line ofstaunch Catholics. Her mother almost became a nun. Solong as I promised to let Gracie raise our kids as Catholics, we could getmarried in the Church. She wouldn’t marry me anywhere else. I was neverevangelical about my atheism anyway.
Theparochial schools that my wife sent our daughter totried to fill Angela’s head with nonsense, but I figured time was on my side. Ididn’t have a long wait. She hung up her faith along with her Catholic schooluniform on graduation day.
Ican’t believe that she now wants to subject her ownchild to what she had been through. It would be less ridiculous if she wastelling me she and the boy donned capes and masks and fought crime bymoonlight. This is seriously pissing me off.
“Dad, don’tyou have any hope that you’ll see Mom again? That itcould at least be a possibility? She hoped for your salvation, said prayers foryou, right up until the end.”
“Dammit! Shut up, honey, won’t you? Just shut the hell up! I can’t believewhat I’m hearing coming out of your mouth. Youare the one she used to pray for. Sure, I was happywhen you gave up that pie-in-the-sky nonsense. I’ve always told you to thinkcritically and believe in the truth of your own experience. But I also taughtyou about tact and respect for people’s feelings. When you quit the Church, you didn’t have to rub your mom’s nose in it so…viciously! She was a good woman, why did you have to antagonize her?”
Tearsroll down my angel’s cheeks.
Awshit, I stepped in it again. Who’s the mean one now, asshole?
“Dad, maybe I was being a bitch. But maybe I was also wrong. I wish I hadn’t saidthose mean things to her. And if she was right about heaven, maybe it’s not toolate to tell her so. I’ve been praying, Dad. Just like the nuns taught me to.And it makes me feel better. Death is not the end,Daddy. It is just the beginning.”
Itake a sip of my G&T. Then I knock it back until it is just rocks. I puffon my cigar for the long count.
“Sweetie. I love you and Mark, and Iloved your mother. But dead is dead. There is no afterlife. This is all we’ve got. In my career, I signed over two thousanddeath certificates. I know what ‘dead’ means. I never once saw anything thatmade me believe in a soul that persists after death. When I am gone, I’m gone.So, mourn your mom. Grieve her. But then let her go.Live your own life. Be there for your son. Let the dead be dead…”
Andthen, instantaneously, it’s not noon anymore. It is dusk. It’s as if I’ve wokensuddenly from a dream, into another dream. My angel is standing by the pool,alone, but it is cool out. Chilly. She’s not in herbathing suit. She’s wearing a dress and a light sweater. This can’t be August.It feels like November. The pool chairs have been stacked neatly in theirracks. The surface of the pool is scattered with dead leaves. They mustn’t be cleaning it every day.
Myangel is crying.
“Dad. Daddy? Can you hear me? I hope youwere wrong, you sour old bastard. I hope you are with Mom now. Because you werea good man, Daddy. You deserve to be with her, in Heaven.”
ButI’m not in Heaven. I’m here with you. You keepcalling me back. And that pain you’re feeling, some of it is mine.
Shewalks on the white-pebbled path back to the condo. Her condo, now.
Sheturns off the television. The boy has fallen asleep with the TV on, again. He’stoo big to carry anymore. She marches him to his bedwithout waking him. It’s like she’s a master puppeteer making a marionettesleepwalk.
Helooks an inch taller.
Theygrow so fast!
Thenshe sits on the couch and clicks the remote. Imaginary people live only seconds as the channels flick by. She pours herself adrink, and then another one. And another. Until at last darkness claims her,and she falls asleep on the couch herself.
#
voidnothingness oblivion
ido not think therefore i am not
iam not
anendless, waveless ocean of black
peace
.
#
Isee my picture on the mantelpiece. It’s dusty. It makes her cry. She picks upthe picture.
Ithurts to be here… Stopit! Let me go!
Thepicture slips from her fingers. It falls on the hearthstones. Crash! Broken glassgoes everywhere.
#
black
.
#
Oh.This again. I am in the Triumph. She’s inthe driver’s seat, not saying much. She’s trying to hold on to her grudge fromyesterday, but we always make up. We will be laughing together before we get toTampa.
She’s Daddy’s Girl. She knows that I was teasing this morningwhen I called her “showoff bitch,” as she raced me to the car and leapt intothe driver’s seat without opening the door. I can’t do that anymore. I’m notout of shape, but sixty is sixty. Can’t do everythingI could do when I was twenty, but I am not dead, not yet…
No,I am. But not when she remembers me.
Infact, maybe I retired too early. I should go back into medical practice. Icould get a second condo, in New Hampshire. I’d take a locum tenens job in Orlando every winter, see snowbird patients. Then Icould migrate back north with the snowbirds in the spring and work at my oldjob for the summer. Everyone wants to take three weeks off when it’s warm, butwe can’t get coverage for that. Theycan’t. Well, I could cover everyone’s vacations forthem.
Iwill tell her my plans while we are eating Cubans in Tampa today. She will bepleased, I know. And I can watch the boy play in Little League.
