It’s been an awful month. The past month’s events has once again completely rearranged the deck chairs while I wasn’t looking.
A month ago, my youngest child was due to return home from a visit to his grandmother’s with his father. The week before, I received a notice of registration renewal for a vehicle that I had forgotten I was the primary owner of, but do not have in my possession. I had made a plan to visit my ex’s place of work to finally sign over that title to him while I was in the vicinity. And request to be removed, finally, from joint accounts. Time for me to be free of the past and move on to the future.
Man plans, God laughs, so the saying goes.
I texted my child on Monday afternoon.
“What time does your flight get in tonight?”
“Sorry I haven’t texted you” was the reply “It’s been crazy here. I am in an ambulance right now.”
“What??? What happened? Are you OK?”
“I am fine. Dad collapsed getting onto the airplane. He is in pretty bad shape. I will text you later.”
“Text me when you can. Love you”
“Love you too mom”
A terrible, awful month.
What followed was a text stream of check-ins and uncertainty. His dad had, it turned out, suffered a heart attack three days prior to attempting to get on the airplane. And ignored it. Declined to get tested right after it. Thought he could get on a transatlantic flight with almost no blood flow to his brain and his heart working overtime. For three weeks, the man was in an ICU in the place of his birth. Eldest hopped on the next available flight, took time off from work – only to see his father one time in the week he was there. And the child that was with the man when he went down? Did not get to see him in the hospital at all.
For two long weeks, following their father’s angioplasty (and learning of his undiagnosed diabetes), the brothers (and the rest of us) were at the mercy of their uncle for medical updates. Not once were they able to speak with a doctor. Every day, we waited for word about his condition. One day, he was recovering from the surgery but the kidneys were a problem; another day, heart is fine but there is a problem with his lungs. I learned the limitations of my understanding of the language – I called the hospital with the intent to get more information – and understood maybe 3 out of 100 words. I was able to confirm a claim I did not originally believe – that per doctor’s orders, no visitors allowed. At all. The rest, I had no idea.
And it got more awful.
Another issue cropped up. Their own family told them they had to leave. Go back to America. Their grandmother looked them in the eyes and told them to leave while their father, her son, lay in the hospital in critical condition. More was said, arguments had, and logic applied – but to no avail. First the eldest returned, then the youngest. Without any knowledge or understanding of what was happening to their father. Thrown out by their own flesh and blood.
In the week to follow, reports were sporadic. One day, he’s stable. The next, no change. By that Thursday, he was on life support. The children are despondent. At 6 am that Friday morning, the youngest boy called me. Wailing. His father was dead.
That day, the eldest was in Mexico with his company to receive an award. Instead, they flew him back to New Jersey to pick up the pieces.
It’s been an awful month.
Now what?
Where my ex is from, quick burials are a thing. On the third day, you are in the ground. Period. No waiting. No time for anyone to think about getting on a plane. Was there a will? No. Does anyone have his phone and wallet? No. Those remain with the family that sent the boys home. Does anyone know what bills are due, to whom, and how they are paid? No. No one is thinking clearly. How will we get a death certificate? How will we get a certified copy? I call an attorney. Got the basic information. Eldest calls the American Embassy. They can do nothing until they receive the original death certificate from the funeral home. More uncertainty. More relying on the people who sent them away. Friends pitch in. Sister drives up to be with her brothers. We are all zombies.
Somehow, together and with help from our friends, we make calls, we organize papers, we empty the safe deposit box and pack up his work desk. The kids go through the house he rented with my youngest, telling each other stories and holding each other up. I am all business, sending reminders to call the embassy and the insurance carriers and the known creditors.
Various people from different parts of their father’s life call, text, email and plan memorials. People we have known for decades reach out, expressing condolences. A whole life’s worth of relationships and experiences, colliding in this one moment. I was just starting to get over being angry with him. And now he’s gone. There is no chance of ever putting the ugly part of our relationship behind us and coexisting in our kid’s lives. And here we are, the children and I, cleaning up yet another mess he has left for us.
All the clichés
People say pain makes you stronger. Loss brings people together. Learn from other people’s mistakes. Losing a parent makes children grow up quickly. There will be good that comes from this experience.
Maybe all of these things are true.
What is also true is that no matter what people say, no matter how many people step in or step forward, the man has left this earth and three kids are without their father. He did not take care of his bodily health, even when it was clear that it was dire. He did not think that his children would want him to grow old, to see them grow old themselves? Did he ever take a minute to think that caring for himself was an act of love toward his children, at the very least? I was just starting to not be angry.
It has been an awful month. I can only hope that what “people say” will be true.
