August 14, 1985 - Ventura, California
The end. Everything ends. Days end. Jobs end. Friendships end. People end. Nick Mitchel had lost count of how many endings he’d lived through, how many people he had lost. Lost. What a stupid word; as if they could be found. Though some people in this world were found, not in Nick’s. Death was not recoverable. With their deaths came burials on land and sea. Memories buried as well.
This was different. Nick had known this day would come. For three years, cancer had slowly, menacingly, insidiously eaten at her body. His shoulders slumped over as he sat in his living room chair, holding the little crystal clown fish that Jeanne loved so much. A down light shined on their family photo mounted above the fireplace. The picture was a few years old, taken on the rocks at Ventura Beach with the waves crashing behind them. Nick had his arms around Jeanne as they leaned back on a rock. She was the picture of health. Anthony stood tall behind them, and Dana sat on the sand, leaning against Nick’s legs. It was the four of them, as Dana hadn’t married or had his sweet granddaughter yet. The light seemed to focus on Jeanne, her smile, her sparkling, happy eyes drawing her up. Nick rubbed his eyes, irritated at conjuring such a thought. My beautiful Jeanne. When she d… is gone, how do I stay? She is my wife, my love, my best friend. She knows me better than I know myself. I’ve shared everything…almost. Maybe I’m not meant to go on. I don’t deserve to go on. Nick stopped this thought. Now wasn’t the time to go down that black hole. She still needed him, and he would continue to take care of her until he fulfilled her final wishes.
Unconsciously, his fingers twirled his wedding ring around his finger as he tried to reconcile his prayers. He had to find the strength to pray for what would be the very best for her, causing the very worst for him. “Lord, it’s been long enough. Please end her pain,” he said.
“Dad,” said Dana, choking on her words.
Nick knew it was coming. He took a deep breath and got up to face his son and daughter. His wasn’t the only heart breaking. He peered into the eyes of his children, who had said goodbye to their mother.
“Mom wants you,” Dana said, her voice barely a whisper, tears rolling down her face. Nick nodded to her. He could see his son fighting for control. Nick gave them both a quick hug. Forcing himself to stand up tall, he took another deep breath, went into the bedroom, and sat down on a chair by the bed.
Jeanne lay on her side, eyes open, staring with the same vacant expression she wore for the last several days. Those eyes that had been so vibrant, so intense, now outwardly blank. Whatever held her vision was now internal and didn’t reside in Nick’s world.
“Yes, my love,” he said. With shaking hands, he moved her dry gray hair back behind her ear, then he took her hand in his. “Can I get you anything?”
With effort, she focused her eyes on him. “I told the kids, I want you to take my ashes to Hawaii.”
Nick nodded.
Jeanne struggled to take another shallow breath. “It’s time, Nick. You have to let me go,” she said in a soft, frail voice.
“You can’t ask me to do that,” he whispered, shaking his head, fighting desperately for control, as the tears welled up again. Nick gazed into her eyes, the pecan color that had captured him so long ago.
“I can’t stay,” she said, taking a breath. “Nick, you can’t follow me to the afterlife. If you do, I won’t talk to you there.”
At those words, Nick actually smiled. “Yes, you will. Wherever we are, we will be together.”
“I’m not…going to…be there,” she said. Jeanne’s chest barely moved as she strained for more air. “I believe…in rein…carnation.…I’m coming…back a fish.” She gave a slight smile.
Nick’s mouth trembled. “What kind of fish?” he asked.
“Clown fish.”
“No, my love. You are too strong and elegant. You will be a manta ray or an eagle ray.”
“I…like…eagle…rays.”
“I know.” I know everything about you, he thought. I know that you can’t pass a lavender bush without feeling the leaves and sniffing its scent. I know how you smile when you see a yellow finch. I know where you keep your secret stash of semisweet chocolate chips.
“Nick…hold me.”
Nick stretched out beside her, as he had done daily for forty years. As tenderly as he could, he rolled her over so her head rested on his shoulder, wrapping her, protecting her in his arms. She felt so fragile to him, almost as brittle as dried twigs.
“I’ve…always…loved your…strength.”
But it’s of no use now, he thought. Nick kissed her hair. “I’ve always loved your strength as well.” She couldn’t see his face, so he didn’t try to control the tears, not that he could have.
“You have…to let…me go.” Each word wheezed out, grew fainter and fainter.
“I don’t know how.” His heart started to beat faster and his whole body shuddered.
She inched her hand to lay over his heart. “You have to…say goodbye.” He didn’t answer her. “Nick…our paths…part…here. You…have a…different journey…to take.”
“What journey could I ever take without you?” he asked, trying to keep her talking.
“You have…to go back…you have to…feel it…You have…to say…goodbye.”
Nick’s lungs began to burn with each of her breaths. He couldn’t help her, couldn’t stop this. His world was collapsing down on him.
“I will be…right here.” She rubbed her fingers over his heart. “Promise me!”
“I promise.” He tightened his hold on her, knowing what was coming.
“It’s time.” She closed her eyes. “Goodbye…Nick Mitchel.”
Tears overflowed, running down his face. “Goodbye, Jeannette Crawford Mitchel.”
She took one last, deep breath.
It happened. He knew it had happened. His arms cradled her body, but it wasn’t her anymore. He felt the moment her spirit left, the void back-filled with some invisible mass. What was he supposed to do now? Their bedroom was the same. No, it wasn’t. A putrid, sweet odor articulated death’s victory. In its last act, death took his heart, leaving a mechanical pump in its place. Why the hell couldn’t it have taken him? What was the purpose of staying?
“Dad,” said Anthony in a whisper, “I called Christine. She said Hospice would help with…”
Nick opened his eyes and saw his son standing at the foot of the bed, his arm around his sister, while she cried. Nick nodded. A task had to be performed. Duty called him into action and he grabbed it as the life ring it was. Gently, he rolled Jeanne back over, kissed her forehead, and stood up. Jeanne lay there like she was asleep. How many times had he watched her nose twitch and eyelashes flutter while she dreamed? How many times had he softly kissed her awake until she was fully alive in his arms? This time, he fell back into the well-ingrained habits of the last couple of years and quietly turned away, not wanting to disturb her. After he wiped his eyes, he pulled both kids into his arms for a tight hug. “Let’s go to the living room,” he said in a low voice.
The doorbell rang, and Anthony went to answer it.
“Dad,” said Dana, wiping her own eyes, “I’m going to bed. I want to make sure Jani doesn’t wake up and comes out. I don’t want her to see—”
Nick nodded.
Christine, from Hospice, arrived, followed by two men from the mortuary. Nick did his best to talk coherently with them, answering their questions, agreeing with schedules. Part of him wanted to yell, GO AWAY! She’s just sleeping! The robot part of him held control, clinging to the tasks that had to be done. He directed the men to the bedroom.
As Jeanne’s illness had progressed, his mind had projected to her death, probably some self-protection mechanism to prepare him. Whatever the reason, it had been a complete and utter failure. But in all his projections, this moment, this scene, this agony never showed itself. She wanted to die in her own bed, and Nick made sure she did. Yet, it never occurred to him what it would feel like to watch her carried out with a blanket over her head. This is something seen in movies, not real life. Until this moment, he could pretend. God, he wanted to scream at the men to stop, leave her! Take me instead! She would wake up and then bring him the death certificates. He wanted to grab her from the gurney and pull her into a dance around the bank accounts. Lose himself in her beautiful eyes. Make love to her under the obituary. Ripped in two, he was half heart and half robot, and they raged against each other, neither containing a brain. With every step the men took, his shell cracked, his will crumbled.
The final nail was in place as he stood there, staring at the closed door. His legs, somehow rigid enough, kept him standing. Nothing made sense. His mind reeled, while his head rolled like a bobble-head doll.
“Dad, are you okay?” Anthony asked, putting a hand on Nick’s shoulder.
Nick didn’t move. If you can’t let him go, bury your emotions. Bury them deep. Where did those words come from?
“Dad?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed, then he shook his head to try to come back from some place, long forgotten. He took a deep breath and turned to his son. “I’m alright. How are you?”
“Not sure.” Anthony gave a subtle shrug, lowering his arm. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.” He paused, his shoulders slumped like a helpless man adrift without a rudder. “What do we need to do now?”
Anthony stood eye to eye with Nick, the same build, the same straight nose, but he had his mother’s eyes. Nick gazed into those eyes and saw the mixture of Jeanne’s spirit and Anthony’s confusion. Putting an arm around his son’s shoulders, he squeezed. “We go on.” His voice went down an octave. “That’s what your mom wanted. We just go on.” Nick took another deep breath and put on a slight smile. “You’ve missed a lot of work. Why don’t you go home, get a little sleep, then check in with your office?”
“But I can help you.”
“There isn’t much to do.” Nick shrugged. “Your mom was very clear about what she wanted. I’ll take care of...the arrangements this afternoon. And at some point, mow the grass. The neighbors have been very patient with me. This morning I’ll try to catch up on some sleep.” He saw Anthony’s uncertainty. “I’ll call you when I need help, I promise. The best thing we all can do right now is to get back to our routine. Activity helps.”
Anthony’s face showed his uncertainty. “Alright. How about I come over this weekend and help you tackle the gardens?”
“I’d appreciate that. Thank you.” Nick wrapped his arms around his son, trying to give strength as much as he was needing some as well. When they broke apart, Anthony gave a shallow smile, then left.
Nick went back to the living room and sat down in his chair. For all his words to Anthony, Nick was wandering in an abyss, a fog. We go on. How? There were no immediate demands, no orders, no missions. A vacuum sucking him down to some deep hole.
Little Jani ran past him into his bedroom, her soft stomps rushing into the bathroom. She came back out, looking as lost as he felt. “Why did grandma have to go to heaven?” she asked. Jani stood in her butterfly pajamas that no longer fit growing legs. Her eyes, that hadn’t completely woken up yet, welled with tears. Early morning light peaking around the drapes cast a diaphanous glow around her tangled blond hair.
Nick didn’t think he had enough heart left to feel, but something tore inside him. He opened his arms. Clutching her little stuffed red bear, she ran to his lap. He pulled a soft baby blue blanket over and wrapped her up in it, then gave her a corner to rub against her cheek. Nick hugged his granddaughter close to his chest, resting her head next to his heart. In the desolate sink hole he was existing in, this little body with little arms and little ears brought a little ray of light. The two sat there in silence, listening to the soft ticking of the anniversary clock on the mantel. A tiny silver thimble wedged between the fibers of the carpet behind his foot. He breathed in her wonderful tiny child’s sweet smell, as a drowning man tries to breathe fresh oxygen. Why? That was the question. How do I explain this to a four-year-old when I don’t understand it myself? How do I help her to accept that her favorite person in the world is gone? And so is mine. That Wednesdays won’t be grandma day anymore. They won’t make play dough animals or finger paint pictures together. How do I fill this void in her life when I am a void? There was no way to understand when love was ripped away. He sat there, trying to think of words that she could understand. “It was grandma’s turn to be an angel,” he said. “So she can help other people who need her.”
“But I need her,” Jani said, her voice as small as she was. Her body shuddered against him.
So do I. He gently rubbed the blanket covering her back.
“Oh, Sweet Pea,” he said, “Grandma is going to help people who don’t have anyone else. She will always be watching over for you as well. Every time you see a butterfly, it will be Grandma coming to see you.” As Nick hoped, at the thought of butterflies, Jani calmed down. “We still have each other, and your mommy and daddy.”
“And Uncle Anty?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, smiling, “Uncle Anty as well. And you have red bear.” She pulled the stuffed toy up to rest on Nick’s chest. The bear was well loved, with one particular ear more loved than the other. His bow tie was undone, again.
“Will I be an angel?” she asked, with a bit of fear in those words.
“No,” he said quickly. The mere thought of losing Jani caused a brief panic attack. “Not until you are very old.” His arms pulled a little tighter.
“You are very old. Are you going to be an angel?” she asked, the worry still there.
Nick smiled again at her honesty, though words failed him. It made sense that Jeanne, with all her love and kindness, would be an angel, but Nick knew he didn’t qualify. “No, Sweet Pea,” he said, “I’m not going to be an angel.”
