A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents (8 page)

“The stroke paralyzed his right side. They had to restrain his left arm. He was pulling everything out. The tubes. The catheter,”
Abigail explains, as she buzzes for the nurse. I step away from Dad’s bedside and find a place closer to the glass wall of
his room.

“Not pretty,” Leo adds.

“Haven’t seen my father in twenty-two years and the first glance I get is of his—” Abigail trails off, motioning to the more
nether regions of our father. I wince. Dad wheezes again into the oxygen mask.

“He’s sedated, right? He’s on pain meds?” I ask, my voice rising.

“Yeah… he shouldn’t be feeling any pain. But they tell me that it’s uncomfortable, you know… all the tubes,” Abigail explains,
looking up as the nurse comes in the room.

“Everything okay?” the nurse asks, immediately walking over to Dad’s side.

“He’s trying to pull the tubes out again,” Abigail explains, as she takes Dad’s restrained hand in hers. He grips her hand
tightly. Find a point on the horizon. Find a point on the horizon. He knows what’s going on. He’s in there somewhere. I look
up at the ceiling of the hospital room.

“Now, Mr. Hawkes—just calm down. Everything’s okay,” the nurse says.

“This is Grace. My sister,” Abigail says to the nurse.

The nurse laughs. “How many of you
are
there?”

“Just the four of us.” Abigail’s voice is tight.

“You’re like those Narnia kids.”

“Those Narnia kids?” Abigail asks, as politely as she can.

“I just saw that movie with my kids. They loved it,” the nurse oozes.

“It’s actually a book—a series of books,” I say.

“Four of them, four of you,” the nurse adds.

“Do we also remind you of the Beatles?” I ask.

“
Grace
,” Abigail warns. The nurse turns away, doing her best to ignore me.

“Four of them, four of us,” I add, under my breath. The nurse trades an empty bag of clear fluid for a full one.

“You’d be the Edmund,” says Leo, snickering. Abigail smiles as we watch the nurse.

“What?” I ask.

“Huston is the Peter, Abigail is the Susan… that makes you the Edmund,” Leo says.

“And
you
the Lucy,” I point out.

“I’d rather be the Lucy than the Edmund,” Leo whispers.

Abigail titters. “Didn’t Edmund betray everyone?”

“I’m not the Edmund,” I sigh breezily, trying to seem as un-Edmundlike as I can. Abigail harrumphs over in the corner.

“Your mom was here earlier,” the nurse says. She nonchalantly checks Dad’s oxygen mask, re-situating it on his nose.

“I’m sorry?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat.

“Our mom died,” Leo says, almost in apology.

“Oh, I’m sorry. She said she was Mr. Hawkes’ wife. I assumed—”

“No—Connie is Dad’s second wife,” Abigail explains.

“Connie? Connie who?” I whisper. What. Is. Going. On?

“Later,” Abigail warns.

“Right… then, Mr. Hawkes is fine, he’s settled,” the nurse continues, patting Dad’s restrained hand. The nurse turns on her
squeaky white heel and heads out of Dad’s room. “Oh, well, here she is now! One big happy family!” she announces, scooting
past what must be this Connie person and another man as they sweep into Dad’s hospital room.

Abigail, Leo and I turn to face the woman.

“So good you could all be here for Ray,” Connie says, approaching Abigail and taking her hand. This woman looks like everyone’s
grandmother—stark white hair, dressed in resort wear, impossibly frail.

“We’re so sorry,” Abigail says, consoling Connie.

“There are more of you than before,” Connie notes, her voice quivering.

“This is Grace, my younger sister,” Abigail says.

“The
Edmund
,” Leo jokes, under his breath.

“Shut up, Lucy,” I whisper back, shooting him a look as I approach Connie and extend my hand.

“Grace. Sure. You still play piano?” Connie asks, her hand tiny in mine.

“Yes, ma’am,” I answer.

“Ray talked about you guys all the time,” Connie says. I steal a glance at Dad. In the bed. So weak. So… old.

“He’ll love that you guys made it,” the other man offers.

Abigail, Leo and I look at the man. Uh… and who might you be? I don’t say this out loud. I’m positive I can feel Abigail relax
because she thought I would.

He continues, “Oh! Silly me, I’m Dennis Noonan, Connie’s son. From her first marriage—obviously!” He extends his hand to each
of us.

“Your mother was a lovely woman,” Connie adds.

“Thank you,” we all mutter.

Was
.

“There are so many of you,” Dennis exclaims. Leo sits back down in the chair by the window and looks straight ahead, leaving
the laptop on the floor.

There is an awkward silence. There are three of us in the room.
Three
. First we’re the Narnia kids and now this. It’s not like there are so many of us we could be the road company of
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
. You can count us on one hand. With fingers left over.

“Yes, we’re quite a brood. And Huston’s still to come—” Abigail concedes, offering Connie a chair next to Dad’s bedside.

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Connie says and sits, reaching over to grab and clutch at Dad’s hand. Dennis stands on the other side
of Dad’s bed.

Abigail finds a seat next to Leo. None of us look at each other. Could this Dennis guy be more of a child to Dad than we got
to be?

I stand next to the glass wall, crossing and re-crossing my arms over my chest. Connie is his wife now. Dennis has been in
his life for years. And yet…

I can’t help imagining Dad taking a middle-aged Dennis out for ice cream. They’re having a heartfelt discussion about how
Dennis should call him Dad. Middle-aged Dennis is licking his ice cream cone—mint chip, I think—saying something like, “Aw
shucks, Ray… you ain’t foolin’, are you?” And with that, Ray musses up the boy’s graying red hair and says, “Naw,
son
. I ain’t foolin’.” And then they throw a ball around until Connie calls them in for dinner. Meat loaf. Her grandmother’s
recipe.

I shift my weight onto the other foot and notice that Leo has focused back on his laptop while Abigail is typing something
out on her cell phone… painstakingly slowly. Adults attempting to keep up with modern technology always look so bewildered.
I rest my hand on the metal pane of the glass wall. The cold metal feels good under my fingers as I start to tap out “Head
Over Heels” by the Go-Go’s. Mom used to bribe me with sheet music from the hits of the time to get me to practice. Therefore,
my piano training is heavily based on the hits of the 1980s. I try to get lost in the beat and the intricacies of the melody.
It’s not working. I pull my other hand back and play the harmony, going so far as to tap out the big climax. Abigail narrows
her eyes at me from across the room. I clear my throat and try to act as if I had been about to stop on my own… at just that
moment. The room zooms back.

Watching Dad fight for every breath sends a chill down my spine. Not because I think he might die, but, frankly, because over
the years I
wished
he’d die. Standing here in the same room with his rumbling coughs, those thoughts haunt me… shame me. It’s not like I really
wished on him something like this.

For once, there’d be a good reason why we never heard from him.

We stand at the perimeter of the room like visiting, friendly neighbors making way for the real family.

“Where’s his wedding ring?” Dennis asks. I look past Connie’s frail body and spy Dad’s left hand. Nothing.

“I took it off when we got here. I just didn’t want to take the chance,” Connie explains.

“Where is it now?” Dennis asks. I look over at Abigail and Leo. They’re riveted.

“I gave it to the head nurse to put with all his other belongings. Wallet, keys…” Connie says, her voice cracking. They’ve
forgotten we’re in the room. The conversation isn’t meant for us.

Wait a minute—why
are
we here?

Connie turns to us. “It’s so funny how every little thing becomes important,” she says, her voice cracking. We all nod.

How did Abigail even find out about this? I thought maybe Connie called her, but now I’m positive that Connie didn’t call
anyone. She’s far too upset. I try to catch Leo’s eye. The weak link. Always the weak link. I don’t know exactly how to get
his attention… throw a bag of blood at him?

“Leo?” I say, as quietly as I possibly can. He looks up, as does Abigail.

I continue, “Weren’t we going to go out and see the twins and Evie?” I ask. Abigail studies me. It is weird, I admit… I’m asking
Leo to introduce Abigail’s children to me. Well, because I can crack Leo. Abigail?
Never
.

“Oh, sure. Sure,” he says, shutting down his laptop. He stands, putting it on his chair, saving it. Abigail’s eyes narrow
as she watches this unfold.
She knows I’m up to no good.

Connie doesn’t look up from Dad as Dennis checks the monitors. Abigail stays put, concentrating on Dad, trying not to stare.
I look up at the clock just over the door outside Dad’s hospital room. It’s not even noon yet. Wait, what? It was 11:37 when
I signed in—I remember the time exactly. It hasn’t even been half an hour? Leo walks out of the room and into the ICU nurse’s
station. I follow. I’ve got to act fast.

“Second wife?” I ask.

“Apparently, Dad married her pretty much days after Mom died,” Leo says, as we wait for the buzzing door. I marvel at the
ways we’ve all dealt with Mom’s death: the twins, remarrying, teaching jobs and second PhDs, drowning in nothingness. Have
we all been so lost? Why couldn’t we turn to each other?

“Who is she?” I ask.

“Abigail talked to her for a bit this morning. She’s from here, works as a receptionist at the elementary school where Dad
teaches band. Seems nice enough. I just feel bad for her, you know?” Leo says.

“Dad teaches band?” I ask. I have so many questions.

“I know,” Leo says, smiling to himself.

“She seems pretty upset,” I say, as we finally pass through the double doors and out into the main hospital.

“Yeah, must be tough for her,” Leo answers.

“Was she upset when she called Abigail? You know, to get us to come up here?” I ask, looking off—trying to seem nonchalant.

“Connie didn’t call Abigail,” Leo says, opening the door to the waiting room.

Three of the most adorable children I’ve ever seen are scattered around the room. They all look up at the same time. Evie
has grown into a young woman in the five years since I’ve seen her. She looks even more like Mom than I remember. I mean,
to the point where I just may lose it. The light brown hair, the giant green eyes.

Two children I can only assume are Abigail’s and Manny’s twins are sprawled on the floor. They’re surrounded by coloring books
and picture books, but both are glued to a television that’s showing some animated movie.

“Guys? This is your aunt Gracie. She’s been, well… she’s been on a
trip
for a while, but she’s back!” Leo announces.

“Really?” I say, to his ridiculous lie about my whereabouts. But what was he supposed to say?

“A trip?” Evie drawls, looking up from her book. Her light brown hair is long and straight. Why am I relieved that her haircut
is still appropriate for a young girl? She folds her body in an impossible tangle of coltish limbs, ballet flats and leggings
under miniskirts.

“It’s good to see you again,” I say and smile, walking over to Evie.

“Mom said you were just being difficult,” Evie says, not standing as I approach her. I’ve lost her trust. I can see it in
her eyes. The irony of this moment is jarring. I’ve been so selfish.

“Yeah, that’s closer to the truth,” I say, holding out my arms with an expectant look. She stands like she’s waiting for the
hangman to place a noose around her neck. I pull her in for a long hug. At first she stands stick-straight, her arms at her
sides. I can sense her eyes rolling and feel her inconvenienced sighs. I know one thing that’ll crack that indifferent demeanor.
Or at least it cracked it for the first ten years of her life.

“Washing machine… washing machine…” I joke, twisting and turning her lanky body around in my arms as if she were a load of
laundry.

“You…
you
… hahahahaha.” Evie finally succumbs and laughs.

“It’s good to see you again,” I say, pulling her in for a hug again. Evie wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. I breathe
her in. I won’t let this second chance slip away.

“You, too,” she says, her head tucked into the crook of my neck. A baby girl I saw ten seconds after she was born and I walked
away. Never again. I pull her tighter. She’ll be lucky if I ever let her go.

“You’re weirdies,” a tiny voice shrieks.

Evie and I break from our hug. I look over my shoulder. A little boy with a tangle of dark brown hair, giant apple cheeks
and that perfect little kid skin stands with his arms akimbo. He’s wearing a tiny pair of glasses that are secured to his
head with a neoprene strap. I can see splotches of dirt and spit on his lenses from here. I wonder if he can actually see
through them. As we take him in, he unsheathes a plastic sword that’s tucked into the side of his pants.

“Weirdies?” I ask, stepping toward the little boy. Evie gathers herself, meaning that she tries to appear as apathetic as
possible, and settles back on the couch with a book.

“That’s Mateo,” Leo says, pointing to the boy.

“Mateo, huh? I come in peace,” I say, extending my hand.

“We hate peas,” the little girl says from the floor.

“That’s Emilygrae,” Leo adds.

Emilygrae is the mirror image of the little boy—well, they
are
twins. Her dark brown hair is in pigtails that are squished and lank—obviously from lying on the floor. Her huge brown eyes
are accented by eyelashes I swear I can feel on my face from across the room. She’s wearing a pink shirtdress with candy cane
tights and Mary Jane shoes. She is also sporting two little twin casts right at her wrists. One hot pink. The other black.

“Tio Leo!” Emilygrae says, pronouncing his name
Lay
-o. She rushes over and immediately hugs Leo’s legs.