It's Been Good

Daddy

“Daddy, daddy” I push his bare shoulder, “Daddy, wake up.” He isn't moving. Why doesn't he get up?

My daughter's sweet voice – candy for my ears – sounds farther and farther away even though she hasn’t moved. I love my singsong girl, calling me, worried. Her small hand grazes my forehead - warm like bread just out of the oven. Is this it? Am I going? It feels so quiet. My girl by my side.

Windows

The curtain moves at the living room window as I speed into the driveway. My oldest daughter runs out the front door and into my arms before I get to the house. We move inside, up to the bedroom, and I have one quiet minute beside him before the ambulance arrives. He is so big, so still on the brown shag carpet. His head in my lap and all is quiet. A moment later, the bustle of saving a life. People all around, lights glaring. I move aside. The EMTs and I climb into the ambulance. Just me and Dick now. The world disappears through the tiny window. Did I just feel his hand squeeze mine? Run into the e.r., fill out paperwork. I turn my back for a second. He goes into another room. I watch from the small window. Doctors attach tubes. His arm falls over the edge, heavy.

Didn’t any of you see that nurse? She came over and took my wedding ring. Took off my clothes, then the ring that I haven’t been able to remove for years. Are my eyes open? Am I dead? Does she know? Does she have someone she wants to give it to? Where is Phyllis? Where am I?

The E.R.

“Is he an organ donor?”
“Let me check his chart – yes, he is – all organs.”
“Somebody talk with the family. We don’t have much time. Someone find out what is needed.”

So that’s what my body looks like. Better than I imagined. Not blackened from the cigarettes, the alcohol. Red, alive. Will someone else live now? Where is Phyl? My girls? I think this is it. There she is - holding my hand. Crying. So strong. I love you, Phyl. Don’t look back. Here I go.


Celebration of Life

“Dick Gordon was a big person. He lived hard, played hard, worked hard, loved hard. A big heart. A big mind. Big, warm arms that embraced life….”

So many people! Do they really mean what they say? Of course they won’t say, “He was a bit of a drunk. Kind of loud. Uncoordinated as hell...” It’s not so bad. My girls will be happy. I will watch them grow up. Jen will always dance. Meredith will embrace her brain, her intellect. Phyl will love again. It’s been good.