AFTERWARD

ONE

They were now twenty-five miles apart.  After fifty-eight years of marriage, they no longer share the same bed, the same room.  Charles cannot recall hearing stories of them ever being separated from each other before; not even day trips apart.  Some things, little pieces of information, confirm that they do miss each other now. Then suddenly, counted in just days and weeks, their lives have been reassigned to a new type of existence, a new theme,  and they have been reformatted to fit inside unfamiliar boundaries.  This arrangement has indeed become an extension of what has to be an alien life to them, which all started with Edythe’s fall. A day to day living arrangement, seeking nothing less than what would be considered by most as a natural act survival, a paramount need for all humans of all ages.  Their basic lifestyle has been completely redefined.  It was so unexpected that they must feel like they are walking in an imaginary world concocted by a master fantasy author, whose job it is to invent happenings that are not in their control nor expectations.  And so, they exist one day after another day, alone, confused, and so very frightened.
 
Could the elderly experience PTSD?  The happenings of that night when she fell and broke her hip were extremely, deeply emotional for both of them; and what followed could only be described as a classic textbook case of a posttraumatic stress disorder.  To this, add that Charles was never asked by either parent, especially his father who is the more cognizant of the two, why Charles couldn’t bring one or both to his home to live with him. That, in itself, must make them feel abandoned and left by the side of the road.  Charles couldn’t remember if he told either of his parents that he was living in the basement now, preparing to divorce his wife, their daughter-in-law.  Charles  would like to believe that they knew, even before his mother broke her hip.  But he couldn’t remember when, what or how he told them.  Right now, everything in his immediate past is a fog to him. Charles just wasn’t in that frame of mind now to sit down with his father, and explain all the details that ultimately had caused his father and mother to be displaced to their present unfamiliar and separate living arrangements.  Charles feels miserable about this.  When he stands in front of either parent, he can hear himself saying, confiding to them, ‘Nope.  Sorry.  I can’t bring you home with me? I’m living in a basement with a wife upstairs I don’t recognize anymore.  Nope.  Sorry.  I really can’t live with you in your home, either.  Where would I stay?  There is only one bathroom in that tiny Levitt home. And, at this stage of my life, you want me to live upstairs in the partially finished attic; with the floors covered with linoleum so old they probably consist partly of asbestos, so old and dried up that they crack and chip as you walk on them? Sorry, this is the best living arrangement I was able to find for you both; while leaving me with some sense of sanity and dignity. And, I’m so sorry if this sounds like I don’t love you; I do, very much.’ His thoughts stop, take a breath, and continue.  ‘Dad, you weren’t ready to leave your home, and Mom, you just couldn’t go back home to live with dad, in your condition and state of mind.  Who would change your diapers, and clean you?  Feed both of you?  I work full time, how am I supposed to do that and care for the both you, at the same time? Afterall, I am your only caregiver.  I tried to get Steve involved, but it seems you took care of that possibility for me decades ago.’ That thought sadden Charles a lot.
 
Another breath, ‘I think you would have figured out how to do that for me. If I were still your baby. I know you would have sacrificed for me, more than I am willing now.  Why can’t I do that for you now?’  Oh, how Charles’s emotions keep adding one reason after another why he should not be blamed for this sham of an existence for either of them.  And, then to separate them from each other at the same time; couldn’t he have found a place, that didn’t exist, for both of them could live together?  ‘Not Guilty!!’  Over and over again, it became his mantra, his song of his own personal survival.  ‘Not Guilty…Not Guilty.’  He beats out a tune with those words as an attempt to bolster his courage and focus to move on to the next step in caring for his parents. 
 
And, he’ll than move into their home so he can finally divorce his wife, now with a plan, leave the basement, and become independent again. Coincidence of fate, fortune, by chance, by destiny?  While they continue to live where he placed them, he repeats his song, ‘Not Guilty’. ‘The possibilities that I chose for you and me just happened, developed coincidently; I didn’t plan all this to unfold as it did.’  Charles tried to reinforce his innocence in the way things turned out.  ‘Oh, how challenging it is to have a conscience; to care,’ Charles laments. 
 
Arlene never came to see either of them while they lived in their separate living facilities.  She came for Edythe’s funeral, but not for Lester’s. Charles and Arlene’s official divorce proceedings began in 1995, although separation started a little over 2 years before that.  July of 1996 the divorce decree was formally signed.  Arlene was a nonparticipant in either of his parent’s lives throughout.  Not sure if Charles even blamed her for that lack of involvement, or if he was happy that she didn’t. Afterall, it was Charles’s only divorce, and he wasn’t really an expert on the formalities of this marital arrangement crap. Afterall, Arlene did accept the phone call from the operator the night his mom fell,  and was insistent that Charles arrive at his parent’s home to help them.  She ended her involvement from that day to Charles’s parent’s deaths.  Scott visited his grandmother occasionally while she was in the hospital.  He assumed the role of caregiver for one weekend, while Charles attended a teacher conference in Montauk. He also visited Edythe at her nursing home, while Lester was there; that afternoon he brought a cake to celebrate Charles’s 50^th birthday; to be shared by all attendees. Maybe seeing his grandparents in that state of mind was too much for him; maybe he was never conditioned to do so. Scott never visited them again. And as much as Charles tried to remember, he had no recollection of Lynn participating in any of the events of his parent’s lives from that fateful night in 1994. She was attending college, but Charles can’t remember if her vacations included visiting her grandparents. That memory loss should had been a significant prophesy of future events between them.  It wasn’t. Charles continued to hold onto his dreams. He does remember, however, that she did accompany him when he went to the hospital to identify his father’s body. His only girl cousin came to visit both parents a couple of times; another older cousin, with his wife, also came to say hello [their “goodbye”] to his father.  Obviously, Charles’s parents weren’t the main family attraction in those days.  Was it worth all the pomp and circumstance for his parents to command family attendance in their tiny home for all those religious holiday gatherings? What was to become evident, however, was that  Charles became resolute; from this day forward, he would stop asking people to do anything for him. From this time onward, Charles would never ask, never require, anyone to ever feel obliged to commit any form of assistance in his life again. It was a lot easier if he were not disappointed. And, on those certain days of remembrance and nostalgia, Charles began the process of developing deep regret of the decades of wasted concern, time, love, attention and other emotional expressions that he bestowed on others.  With nothing but unrequited, unreciprocated love from his dyfunctional family to hold onto, and nothing but disdain being offered now, all that remained were the doubts of why he even bothered to care for them in the first place.

TWO

Both parents now in their respective living arrangements made sense to Charles, at that time, since each facility offered the type of care that was needed by each parent.  Charles was getting an education on caregiving.  He never bothered to take notes, however, since he was absolutely sure that once all this was over, he would never ever go through this again, like his marriage, other than through his memories. 
 
He kept his mother alive for a year and a half against her wishes.  Throughout that time, his mother was never happy.  Never smiled.  His father lived a year and 4 months after his wife died.  His father’s last weekend of  life, Charles was resolute not to repeat the same mistake he made with his mother; he kept him company but left his father unbothered, and allowed his father to complete his last wish peacefully, and on his terms.
 
Lester and Edythe, May 1995:  Edythe was well established at Woodbury Nursing Home; this month was her fifth month of living there.  Her nurses knew Charles and his mom very well.  Charles will always remember to bring them trays of cookies for the holidays; giving his mother an extra minute or two of attention during the day was well worth those gifts.  It helped also that he willingly volunteered to serve as a host for the residents for all the holiday programs throughout the year.  Charles lost all contact with his friends while he devoted to caring for his parents. A newly learned fact: not having time to call his friends, He realized, his energy was the bond necessary to keep relationships alive; they were not, to his dismay, self-sustaining.  His parents did enjoy his visits; they weren’t abandoned on those days.  Before Lester had moved to his assisted living facility,  Charles would stop at his father’s home each morning.  On the way to this father’s house Charles would buy breakfast for his father; scrambled eggs, toast, hash browns, at his father’s favorite diner, and deliver it by 7:15am.  He would sit with his father for about a half an hour, while he had coffee, and his father had his breakfast.  Talk was uninvolved, general and meant only to be company for his father.  Charles also hired a home care service to visit his father, at around 11am each weekday; she would stay for about 2 hours.  It generally included a short walk, a simple lunch, and light conversation.  Charles wasn’t sure how much he could stretch his patience, time and his wallet with this routine, but for the while it was working.  Charles returned in the late afternoon to prep a light supper, and deliver groceries if shopping was added to that day’s schedule.  There were visits to his mother’s residence on the weekends, which included picking up his father and returning him home. Afterall, they were still husband and wife, albeit not in the eyes of the State of New York.  Lester would ask Edythe, “How are you doing Edy?  Are you comfortable?  Is there anything I can do to help you?”  It came from deep inside his soul. He sincerely reached out to his wife that he swore 58 years ago, ‘until death do us part’.  She turned her head, which slumped over her body, her osteoporosis articulating her hunchback, as she sat in her wheel chair.  Her eyes were open wide and attentive. She replied, “Are you okay?  Are you eating?  Sleeping, okay?”  Followed by a whine, maybe a low moan, and a tearless cry.  Lester sat by her wheel chair, his arm on the wheelchair’s arm rest, his hand holding her hand, his fingers intertwined with her crooked ones.  They sat like that until Charles offered them their supper from their favorite kosher deli; fresh corned beef sandwich, pickle, potato knish [with yellow mustard], and a soda each.  They ate, they were hungry.
 
Lester eventually reached that point when he could no longer take care his own personal needs by himself; he could no longer stay at home by himself.  When his father was admitted to an assisted living facility, Charles did the same for him as he did for his mother.  Which meant if there was any free time left from serving cookies and juice at his mother’s nursing home, it now got absorbed with his father’s assisted living home, 25 miles to the west. 

THREE

Lester – Ticket: September 1995:  Charles worked during all the summer vacations as a teacher.  Unlike his fellow educators, Charles never had a summer free to travel. With the birth of his first child, Charles began to use the available summers to work in Flea Markets, eventually, to managing his own retail business; his summers, and evenings throughout the year, became an extension of his work schedule, to make that extra cash needed to monetarize and validate his role as the bread winner.  On the first day of every new school year, Charles would participate in the welcome-back-to work-ritual with his fellow teachers; comparing their vacation tans with his tan lines earned while standing outside under the summer sun selling straw hats and stained glass at the Roosevelt Flea Market. However, by the time his parents were residing in their respective elder care homes by 1996, and both his children had become legally emancipated, his summers were finally summer vacations.
 
Late September 1995, with his mother now in the nursing home, it was all about his father.  Three months shy of his wife’s fall, almost a year living and sleeping all by himself, Lester was barely existing by himself in his Levitt home.  Although Charles entertained and fed him every morning and late afternoon, although there were home care visits mid-day every day, there was still plenty of time for Lester to become remorseful, despondent, and just completely fed up with his life. If there could be one special incident that would become that proverbial straw breaking the proverbial camel’s back, that would now determine his father’s future living arrangements, it had to be the speeding ticket that Charles received on his way to confirm that his father hadn’t died in his home that afternoon in late September of 1995.  It was only a 15-minute drive, 25-minute during rush hour, to his father’s home from Charles’s job in Bethpage, while taking carefully mapped out back roads, through developments.  He just finished his 3^rd period class, and he was looking forward to the next two periods off; he didn’t brag about his amazing schedule too much, for fear jealousy would prevent him from getting it again next year.  He had plans for this extended free time. They included chats with the custodians in their basement office where he could enjoy a couple of cigarettes and a cup of coffee. On the way downstairs, on this day, a teacher told him that the Guidance Office secretary was looking for him, wanted to see him ASAP.  Awaiting him on the secretary’s desk was a pink post-it note stating that a phone message was left for him by a friend of his father; with instructions: ‘Please call me. Sol.’   Charles called his father’s friend; he knew him, maybe not by face, but surely his name and voice.  Sol visited his father a couple of times each week; this was one of those days.  “Hi Sol. What’s the matter? The message said that I needed to call you ASAP.  Something to do with my father?”  Charles was calm, and that really didn’t surprise him.  Although this was the first “emergency” call he got that involved either of his parents, so much has happened it has generally dampened his sensitivity to his parents’ well-being and possible harm. Charles laments, ‘Something else to be guilty about.’  “What’s up?” Charles asks.  “Hi, Charles.  Thanks for calling me back.”  Sol was possibly 10 years younger than my father, which would put him in the neighborhood of early 80’s.  But he sounded so much younger and alert than 80 to Charles.  Sol continues, “So today I went to visit your dad this morning. The door was open so I walked inside.  I called out his name, but he didn’t answer me.  This happened once before, only than to find that he had decided to take a walk around the block before I arrived.  This time, for some reason, it felt different. So, I walked into his bedroom to find him on the bed curled up facing the window.  He didn’t respond to me.  I walked to his side of the bed and stood in front of him.  He opened his eyes.  He said ‘hi’, but he was very unresponsive to my questions. Charles, I think you should go there now and see for yourself and decide what needs to be done for him.”  Instructions.  Charles wasn’t quite sure if he should begin to consider the possibility that he will now have two parents needing an assisted living facility. But first things first, he agreed with himself.  With permission from his boss, with an uncertain outcome, with his gut beginning to turn over, and with expectation of only bad things to happen, he leaves for his father’s home.  Although it’s pushing 10 years, bragging 180,000 miles on the odometer, the Pulsar still moved like a younger version of itself, and it was red, and it still felt like the sports car that it was, and in what his son loved to do 80 on the parkway. 
 
Charles  blamed it on the last stretch of his trip.  It was an open 4 lane road, usually with zero traffic, with the speed limit posted at 35 miles per hour.  He understood why the cop facing him, about a mile up the road, stopped him; clocking his speed at 50 miles per hour.  It was a sighting he really didn’t want to have, so close to his father’s home; almost there.  He could have made it if his luck wasn’t so damn poor. But it was far too late to correct the wrong; he believed he actually felt the radar beam hit the car. Now, he was certain of one thing; he’s screwed.  He had what he thought was probably the best excuse ever, there was no need to lie, it was the truth, he didn’t have to practice; what he had been mulling over and over in his head during the entire trip to the house.  Was his father dying? Will Lester need to go to a home now?  Can Charles afford this? Witnesses to verify the drive’s purpose, could be the best testimony; Sol, who made the urgent call in the first place, to the secretary that gave him Sol’s urgent message, to the principal giving him permission to leave work, to even my father, if he was still alive.
 
“Listen, I know this sounds far-fetched, too unbelievable to be true.  I really wasn’t thinking of anything but the condition of my father, and what I was about to find in his bedroom.  I admit that I wasn’t paying attention, ending up going above the speed limit, but with really good reason, officer.  You can ask….”  And then Charles felt that list of people to give testimony was being rattled off.  Charles was not making believe; his stress and concern were real.  He wore it fully exposed for the world and the cop to see. The plea was made, time was being wasted for the cop to respond; the need for this cop to become human, the absolute requirement that he get set “free” so he can attend to his father.  The cop  just stood there, pen in hand, book opened, pen poised over the pad getting ready to write, and then he spoke.  “Sir, you were going 50 in a 35.”  A second of silence.  Charles just starred.  “I’ll follow you to your father’s home.”  ‘Follow me?’  Charles screamed to himself.  ‘At the very least, with that story just told, and with me looking as frazzled as I am, I would have expected nothing less than a police escort to my father’s house, sir!! But instructions that he will follow me: with his flashing lights behind me?’ Charles dumbfounded, flabbergasted, took the lead and this circus train of clowns  as it drove within the speed limit to his father’s house that took them 5 very long minutes.
 
The driveway barely fit both cars, but the cop must have feared a quick escape by the “perp”, placed his front bumper a paper thickness from Charles’s rear bumper.  Charles waited for his shadow to arrive at the front door; through a tiny vestibule, and then through a second door that led into the kitchen; the home’s ‘front room’, and with the transition from the outside of only 5 or 6 steps.  With the cop on his heel, Charles lead the caravan of human invaders into this old man’s home.  The home had that old human smell;  it was dark, it was eerily quiet.  Within seconds, after passing through the kitchen, they were now walking into a very narrow space between a washing machine and the stove that ended the kitchen and started a hallway; a space barely wide enough for the cop to pass through, as his utility belt rubbed against both appliances.  The hallway led to the bedrooms.  Another 5 steps and they were now standing at the threshold to the Lester’s bedroom.  The old man laid on the far side of the queen bed; Lester was facing the night table, the bedroom window, and a lamp that was on the table.  The lamp was turned on.  The rest of the room was in a shroud of darkness, as if it were dusk rather than mid-morning. The obscurity of the ambient air seemed to have been the result of the odor, the stillness, the sadness that drapped from the ceiling of each room as a mist in this cavern of solitude and ambiguousness.
 
“Dad” Charles whispered at first.  “Dad” a little louder, but well below a nervous scream.  He wanted to make sure the cop could see the cause of why he was nervous; his sickly father laying below him on the bed.  Mostly, he didn’t want to scare his father by showing his true concerns, with the yell he really wanted to come out.  Lester, without moving an inch, finally opened his eyes and stared at Charles.  Lester’s back was still to the cop.  The cop now stood against opposite side of the bed, from the two protagonists.  Charles could now see how big this officer really was.  His body seem to fill that half of the room, with a height that appeared to reach the ceiling; indeed, a very imposing figure.  “Dad, I got a call at work from your friend Sol.  He said he was concerned about you when he visited this morning.  Do you remember Sol coming over this morning?  Are you okay Dad?”  Charles spoke slowly, wanting his father to gather all the information as best as he could.  Lester laid still while Charles continued to explain why he was standing there.  Charles wanted to hear something from his father that would help the cop realize that this was a tired weak man lying in that bed; a man who caused his friend to be concerned enough to call Charles at work. But Charles couldn’t understand what is taking the cop so damn long to see all this for himself. Lester just laid there, silent while looking at Charles.  What Charles saw, what the cop couldn’t see, was Lester formulating the words he understood, but without the comprehension that would normally trigger a response of concern or confirmation that everything was okay.  Rather, Charles interpreted his father’s look as showing anger; ‘why are you angry at me dad?’. 
 
Without any warning, from the other side of the bed where the police officer was standing , his hands on his hips where he keeps his gun, came a voice . The cop asked Lester, “Mister, are you okay?” Loud enough that a comatose body would reply. Charles tried to find some concern in the cop’s voice.  But there was none. ‘Mister?’  ‘Hey’, Charles thought, ‘you are a guest in this house, how about saying, Sir, how are you doing?’.  The cop’s voice demanded an answer from this old man, lying in a fetal position facing away from him.  “Mister?”  the cop repeated.  “Mister, are you okay?”.  Slowly Lester turned toward the source of the question.  Charles wasn’t sure what his father saw.  It was mid-morning, the bedroom was on the south side of the house, yet the room was dark.  Did his father just see a shadow, or did he recognize that it was a cop asking the question?   All that was apparent was that Lester had turned toward the sound, as a deer turns toward the car’s headlights. Lester was born in the ghettos of Russian occupied Lithuania, where as a child, he slept on a shelf above the stove to keep warm in the winter,  At the age of four years, he traveled by train, truck, then boat to Ellis Island in New York City in 1908, with his life packed in a cloth bag.  He grew up as a teenager during the Great Depression, quitting school to go back to work full time because his father died in an occupational accident. Lester never forgot the family members  that left behind in eastern Europe during World War 2; never to hear from them again. Now at the age of 91, weak and saddened from recent events that totally transformed his life, he faced this empowered and imposing figure standing by his bed demanding to know if he is alright.  “Yes, of course.  I am okay” Lester responded with a tired waspy voice in need to being cleared of phlegm, but with pride that was remanent of a scarred life.  He was taught by his elders, as they trekked across Europe and an ocean, never let your enemy know you’re wounded, frightened, and stay proud.
 
The cop raised his gaze from Lester to Charles.  “Sir, please meet me outside.  I will be writing up a ticket for you there. Bring your license and the car’s registration”  The cop’s instruction was short and but very clear; your father is okay; you didn’t need to rush home. The ticket cost Charles $110. It was that damn straw again that keeps breaking that poor camel’s back. 

FOUR

“But Dad, you need care, no not, every minute of every day, but you need someone always available in case you need help.  For whatever reason.”  They were sitting in the kitchen, at the kitchen table that took up the most of the available space in the room; not because it was a big table, it was just a very tiny kitchen. The cop had left about 30 minutes ago.  Lester was only inches from his son’s face, when he stared into Charles eyes.  The tirade was directed only to this son present at the moment.  Shouting Lester said, “You have no understanding what I’ve gone through.  You just want to take the only place I have left that I feel secure away from me.  You really don’t care how I feel about this whole thing!”  Charles never witnessed his father’s anger before, at least never directed at him.  His father was not known to be the disciplinarian, he was a hard worker, always the provider although not always successful, but never the one to show any form of emotion.
 
“I have spent this past year caring for you and mom by myself.”  Charles voice was raised to meet his opponent’s.   “Every single waking moment of my life these past months have been hell for me.  Trying to balance my personal life, my job, my own responsibilities to my own children, have all been put on the back burner while I cared for you and mom.  I get a call from your friend that you look like you are dying.  I leave work, and get here to find you are just tired and bored with life.  And, then on top of it all I get a speeding ticket.”  Charles knew he could on, but this wasn’t the time to vent, and not the right person to whom to vent. He knew his father wasn’t feeling compassion for anyone else other than himself right now. No, this wasn’t the right person to whom to vent.  Charles stopped listing his woes.  “Dad, why are you fighting me.  I am supposed to be the good son.  I am not your enemy.  I offered you a way to stay in your home, but in between with what I was able to give, you collapsed into a world of sadness and loneliness.  All I am saying is there are places where you can go, nice places, where there are people like yourself, who need constant company and companionship.  A place that will keep your life clean and safe and full of things to do.  Let me at least offer you a chance to see what I am talking about.”
 
Lester arrives at Westbury Assisted Living: November, 1995:  It was a very sad day for Lester when Charles backed out of the driveway of his home.  Lester sat in the passenger seat watching his home, for more than forty years his possession that guaranteed his independence and self-determined routine, disappear as the car drove away getting farther and farther from his reach.  This is certainly a tale that is retold countless times by other elderly people who are, for one reason or another, taken from their homes; displaced from their familiar, secure dwelling, then delivered, deposited, into a communal lifestyle.  Most, like Lester, can only afford a shared room with another exiled human, a total stranger.  Without any decision on Lester’s part, his roommate was picked for him. Charles prayed, ‘with the grace deserving of a religious man, with a kind heart, his next life should hopefully be as sheltered and peaceful as what he once had.’ To compliment Charles’s wish, it was followed by Edythe’s prayer, ‘From your mouth to G-d’s ears’. Unfortunately, Charles knew that it will never be a life Lester wanted; most definitely not a life he ever dreamed of having. Lester, however,  did a great job in adapting; at the very least, he never complained to Charles.  From that day he was moved from his home, he became once again an expatriate.  It was almost as if he had resigned himself that this is what he deserved, where he needed to make his sacrifice, so that Charles can have some peace of mind, and Charles’s days will become just a little less complicated without him to take care of anymore.  As if Lester agreed with Charles that he was the ‘good son’. 
 
Charles’s guilt emerged once again.
 
Now that both parents’ residence were successfully re-created; it was time for Charles to re-established himself into the next phase of his life.  Unfortunately, the term empty nest was never realized for him. It apparently wasn’t his time to claim complete independence from family. His daughter was coming home from college; because she is emancipated, her home was not a matter of legal haggling.  She asked for shelter with her father.  As he was preparing his parent’s Westbury home for both of them, his son also took homage there for a short while; although it was mutually agreed that two alphas shouldn’t live under one roof.  A few loose ends in Charles’s life to tie up, another move to reclaim autonomy; new rules to learn, new routines to adopt, and time to do just that.

FIVE

Edythe: Mother’s Day 1996:   Charles’s life has become very regimented.  He was basically okay with that. With his father was doing fairly well at the Westbury Adult Assisted Living, Charles’s life was gaining some order. His weekdays were now devoted to work, personal legal issues regarding his divorce, personal shopping, and other things that made his roller coaster life relatively grounded and stable.  Both parents in their respective, albeit separate residences, gave Charles some free time with acceptable restrictions and obligations.  His commitment to volunteering at his mother’s facility now got extended to include his father’s new home.  New Year’s Eve, Easter [never Passover], Christmas [and a polite showing for Chanukah], and other hallmark moments like Valentine, Mother’s and Father’s Day, all of those events, and smaller ones concocted by his parent’s facilities, were a part of his new life order.  Attending each parent’s individual parties was a challenge to Charles’s calendar, but doable.
 
This year, his mother’s nursing home decided to have Mother’s Day 1996 held as a Sunday morning brunch rather than a late afternoon affair.  Always including his father in all of the activities of his wife’s, Charles explained to his father that they will both go to see Edythe in the morning for Mother’s Day this year, rather than in the afternoon.  The brunch was really nice; clean-up was routine.   Charles had decided before coming to see his mother, that on this day he would do his personal errands in the afternoon after the ceremonies were finished.  Now time to leave his mother’s nursing home, and bring his father back to his place, Lester announced.  “Charles, would it be okay if I stayed the rest of the day with your mother? You can go and do the things you need to do, and come back here later today; then bring me back to my place at the same time you normally would?”  Lester actually was making plans again, and with a degree of logic.  Charles was impressed with his decisions, it’s working.   “Yes.  That would work for me.  But please promise me that you will not get in the way. This place has its own special way of doing things, and you need to do what they ask you to do.”  With the home’s staff in full agreement, Charles left his parents to bond.  This felt really good, and Charles spent the rest of the day in a great mood.
 
Charles’s understanding is that this nursing home has 3 to 4 shifts each day; there were certain protocols that would indicate the end of one shift and the beginning of the next one.  It was about 2:50 pm when Charles arrived back at his mom’s nursing home.  He was very pleased that this day went as well as it did; planning on arriving at his mother’s room around 3 pm, he would sit for maybe an hour with both of them, chat and around 4 pm drive his father back to his place so he could get ready for dinner at 5 pm.  He’d be back home around 6 pm with a container of Wonton soup to end his day. Well planned, and so far, it was being perfectly executed. 
 
He arrived on the second floor of the nursing home.  As he exited the elevator, he was welcomed with a peaceful serenity that only this hour of the day, in any nursing home, would offer. The hallways were empty of residents; normally they would be up and about, shuffling their wheelchairs with their feet, waiting for visitors that never seem to visit. Right now, it was more serene than normal; the silence was unusually deafening.  Maybe it was his edgy intuition expecting that something will always go awry when everything is seemingly calm. The elevator was only a few feet from his mother’s room, first room on the left; just outside the elevator’s atrium.  Standing in the threshold of  the hallway, he noticed a nurse walking towards him.  In her right arm, she was cradled a clipboard with a pen attached to the metal clip that held a short stack of papers in place.  It’s 3 pm, a new shift must have just started; a nurse was walking down the hallway towards his mother’s room. He was putting all of the visuals together, and decided that she was starting her daily assignment of checking in on each resident in her charge.  Writing data and stuff about everyone in her care for that day; his mother’s room, the room farthest from the nursing station, was to be her first visit.  But his glance immediately followed the direction of this nurses’ stare.  The nurse, and now Charles, saw that his mother’s door was closed completely.  Entering his second year of visiting this nursing home, there are things Charles has now recognized as signs, indications, of situations in a nursing home.  If a resident’s door is closed, it usually means the inhabitant is being attended to by a nurse, and privacy is essential and respected; just be patient, you’re told, and wait outside until the nurse is done with your loved one, and she reopens the door.  However, if it is at the time that shifts change, the diapers should have already been changed by the last shift’s staff; there is no overtime in nursing homes. A room with a closed door at this time now means far worse things have happened; the resident is either failing, or has died,  and is now awaiting proper protocol to be followed.  ‘Where’s my dad?’ Charles panicked?
 
They reached the door at the same time. Charles looks at the nurse and motions for her to enter the room; he’ll wait outside.   She does, and slowly closes the door, most of the way, behind her. She left enough of a gap for Charles to feel the air from the room reach his senses for analysis. Nothing. What seemed to be an eternity, the nurse finally reopens the door, looks at Charles with a loving stare that Charles can’t interpret.  A tear forming in the nurse’s eyes?  The door is wide open now, and the nurse motions for Charles to come inside.  As Charles cautiously moved through the narrow atrium of the room, he tried to look ahead as if he was peeking into his future. The room’s hallway seemed longer today; his mind just had to add suspension to the drama. Now fully into the living quarters of the room, he saw the bed, with both railings in the up position.  He saw his mother, resting on her right side, curled up facing her husband also laying in the bed, on his wife’s right side.   Lester on his back, with his left arm tucked under and then around the back of his wife’s neck, and his right arm reaching over his body and touching Edythe’s left arm; intwined, they slept.  They fell asleep together; finally, after a year and a half of being apart. 
 
Charles sat in his mom’s room, and let them finish their dreams.

SIX

Edythe September 1996:  Charles walked into his father’s room the day his mother died. Earlier, Charles was required to identify his mother’s lifeless body.  Now in his father’s room, the vision of his mother laying on the gurney was still fresh in his mind.  It would be the last time his lips would kiss the forehead of a person who loved him.  It would be the last time he would feel the cold, damp lifeless body of his mother. He wanted to keep this as a forever memory. Now, as he sat in front of his father that morning, he needed to confess the reality of life and death to his father. Charles broke the silence, “Um”.  Lester looked up at his son and with his eyes told Charles he understood.  “Edy has died. It is a good thing; she’s finally at rest. She was not happy with her life, and she was ready to be at peace.”  Lester told Charles. 
 
It took the death of his mother for his father to comfort him.
 
Is death that inevitable with people sitting on the rim of its reality?  Are you lacking resolution by relinquishing the desire to live when you personally accede the presence of its finality?  Is it that expected?   Is it that simply accepted?
 
So many things still needed to be completed before the funeral, which was set for 3 days from her death. A requirement he would adhere to for his father.  Charles had already written his parent’s eulogy months ago.  There were things Charles had properly, although unwillingly, anticipated; their deaths were certainly right on top of that list.  About 5 years earlier, his father and mother asked Charles to help them set up their estate. They also asked Charles to help them set up all the funeral arrangements, which included picking out caskets and paying for the service in advance.  When it came time for them to visit the funeral home to make all the necessary choices and decisions, Lester didn’t go.  Edythe made all those choices for them both.  At the time of his mother’s death, Charles was just left with the list of the mundane things to do.  Phone calls to make, conversations that resulted from those calls, his mother’s friends to console, his relatives to explain the details that they never bothered to know earlier, his personal friends to enlighten, lawyers for legal stuff, and finally to decided who would be accompanying his father to the funeral home and cemetery in the one limousine they had available to them that day.  The limousine would be a tight fit.  With all of this planning, Charles began to realize that funerals are events that become the opportune time to show your level of importance in that dead person’s life. The limo’s residents would be Lester, of course, Charles’s children, Charles, and Charles’s cousin; she was more the sibling he wished he had. That’s who matter to Charles. A half an hour before the limo was to leave for the funeral home, there was to be a meeting.  Charles’s children requested they meet privately; they chose the only corner of this tiny home that was available; Charles’s bedroom. In this room, where it was earlier determined he would be pronounced guilty of speeding to see his sickly father, they stood in that rare moment of unity, and Scott was to be the spokesperson.
 
One phone call that Charles had to make that was mandatory. He called his brother, Steve.  Charles needed to have a clear conscious. Steve had to know his mother died.  Steve needed to be given the chance to decide whether or not to be present; after all, she was his mother, too.  The last time they spoke was at the hospital almost 2 years ago. Not a query, not a concern shown in the years that followed.  “Oh, that’s sad.  Sorry. The funeral?  Yes.  I would like to be there.”  Steve was soft spoken, and sounded sincere.  “Can I come to the house first?  Then I can follow you to the funeral home.” Charles was okay with that, but made sure that his brother understood “…that timing was important; plan on arriving early at the house.”  “OK”. Was his brother’s reply.  And they ended the call as abruptly as Charles could be without being overtly rude.  Steve arrived at the home, early as directed.  Greetings between everyone was cordial, yet kept short. It was time to leave. Last minute ritual on the driveway,  brushing the dog and cat hair off of everyone’s clothing.  But before that, the meeting was to be held in the bedroom.  “Dad, Lynn and I need to ask you a big favor.”  Scott started with confidence, but watched his sister’s eyes for the necessary support. “Steve is our uncle.  We never got to know him, and he says he feels badly about everything.  And we would like him to join us in the limo.  We counted, there is room for one more.  Lynn and I would like to have him join us.”  Scott finished; satisfied with his presentation.  Charles looked at them, understood what they wanted, but also realized that if Steve came with them, he would also be driven back to the house after the funeral.  His presence would not just be for the funeral.  Charles replied, “Sure. That would be okay.  He is your uncle. True. We will include him in the limo.”  Charles wasn’t sure if his quick decision would require them to thank him in perpetuity, or show him appropriate homage as the omnipotent, or just fear that this decision was just trying to fulfill a void that was created by his gnawing unrelentless guilt.  Scott and Lynn smiled.  Charles asked them to have Steve join them. In this bedroom, that has witnessed decades of history for his family, was about to finally have some closure in this sadly dysfunctional family.  With his children present, Charles decreed,  “Steve. Your nephew and niece requested that you be a part of this family, and they asked me to invite you into the limousine; go with us to the funeral home and then to the grave site.  You will also come back here for something to eat afterwards.  I would like you to do that for them, and for dad.  Yes?”  Steve bowed his head. “Yes.  I would like that very much.”  
 
After the meal that followed the funeral, Steve left to go back to his home in New Jersey.  His next contact with Charles was to be informed that his father had died.  Steve never came to the house when Lester died.  He went straight to the funeral home, not to the gravesite.

SEVEN

Lester and Ruth: December 1996:  Charles has now only one parent left; one parent left before he became an orphan. Now living in his childhood home, he had time to look at the memorabilia, Charles began to seriously attempt to uncover who his parents were, to what part of their lives did he and his brother contribute. He needed to find his roots; and hopefully understand how this helped to predetermine what, who he was to become.  His parents, two immigrants, with old world expectations heavily engrained in them, attempted to interpret their adopted culture so to effectively mature in this new world.  Each was being influenced by their own personal societal connections, trying to create a life for themselves in a country that itself was still experiencing growing pains and major transformations. Then eventually together as a couple, start to formulate an agreed set of rules, expectations based on a hodgepodge of blended philosophies. Mixed with a pinch of their personal origins to taste,  they hoped to create the foundation for the family they would eventually create and nurture on their own. Their success would be completely subjective, their failure was to be more objectively evident.  It was noted by Charles, that their self-proclaimed heritage would be forever disappointing, a flop. And, worse, apparently hereditary.
 
He emptied his parent’s dresser; furniture that he intended to adopt once it was emptied.  He gave his father all of his clothes to wear, and the clothing from his mother’s side of the dresser was to be packed in boxes and put in the attic. Buried within his mother’s clothing, he found a neatly bundled collection of envelopes, each filled with a letter; some in his father’s handwriting, some his mother’s. They were bound by a carefully tied and bowed yellow ribbon. Before he freed the bow, he saw a tiny silver ring being held in place within the knot. He released the ring, and allowed the letters to lay freely on the bed; an event that according to the dates on the letters, waited almost 50 years to be untethered. The ring will always remain a mystery; he did find it to be made from Platinum, so Charles assumed it had some significance in their lives. Although Lester couldn’t remember its significance, Charles kept it as proof of their young love, devotion and commitment. Letters, love letters, all dated from the early to middle 1930’s, now heaped on the bed, ready to be read by the second child of the writers.  Charles opened each letter, read each letter, and found himself emersed into a previous era, when two young people were in love with each other. He wondered if those letters were the contents of the dreams his parents had as they slept together in Edy’s nursing home bed. They were courting, dating, promising, pronouncing, planning their lives; all of this, now, in front of their adult son fifty years later.  The ring, a thin circle of platinum, small enough to fit only a tiny finger; used probably to bind the hopes and dreams of two young people in love with each other.  He reread the letters a second time.
 
It was now almost 3 months since his mother died.  He was late getting out of school that day; holiday parties in the classrooms, in the faculty room.  Now facing the last-minute holiday shopping in a county with almost 2 million people all apparently occupying the same roads, at the same time.  It seemed that everyone was on their way to the malls. With everything being covered by a film of snow on the already iced surfaces, everything apparently and collectively were joining forces to delay his arrival at his father’s assisted living facility that evening.  After super, the residents were being treated to their annual Holiday party. Charles had promised his father he’d be there; he also promised the staff of the facility that he would help in distributing dessert to the residents.  The oversized Great Room of the facility, used normally as a general sitting area for the populace of this home, was now cleared of all its furniture; it was to become the party room, the dance floor on that cold night in December 1996.  Chairs and couches were all shoved against the walls, with one wall dedicated for the tables that would be filled with cakes, cookies, candy and dozens of holiday displays.  The DJ was sharing that wall, as well.  This place had the fixing of becoming a full-blown party, and Charles was late. As he entered the party room, only the ceiling lights over the dance floor were on, the food tables had smaller lights that served also as the red and green lights for the season.  It was all meant to be an intimate time for the residents, and considering the crowd that were all dancing to the 40’s and some 30’s tunes, it was a very successful.  Every dance floor has its spectators, and considering the extending family members here to share the joy with their moms and dads, it was a packed room.  Charles entered the circle of people watching the dancers.  It was so easy to find his father; Lester loved to dance, and he was always pretty good at twirling with the music.  Charles stood and watched his father and his father’s partner.  She was almost twice his height, but it was obvious this difference hadn’t hampered their locked gaze.  Her name was Ruth, and Ruth was wearing the new sweater Charles just bought his father last week.  It fit her. ‘It fits her?’ Charles asked himself.  ‘Did she actually stretched the sweater?  How’s that even possible?’  Charles positioned himself in inner row of chairs that made up the immediate boundary of the dance floor and spectator section.  Lester saw him.  They acknowledged each other.  And within an instance, the music blaring to accommodate the hard of hearing, Lester let go of Ruth’s hands and they stopped dancing. Lester whispered something to Ruth, and while the music was still playing, moved towards Charles, and sat in the chair next to him.
 
“Glad you could make it.  Thanks for coming.”  Lester said.  “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this party for anything, Dad.  I’m just so sorry I’m late getting here.  So many little things were happening that put altogether…well, I’m late.  And I’m so sorry.”  Charles felt strangely at ease. He felt good. Life seem a bit less tangled and a lot simpler.  He had his own home; the home had windows that allowed him to see the outside world when he woke up in the morning. He had privacy, well to a degree since he is sharing his home with his daughter.  He had only himself to answer to, and make decisions for, and care for the things that pertained to only him.  The divorce was only six months ago, but he was still feeling a new sense of freedom that was the ignition to each day, the force of each movement, and the dream of each wish and plan.  Now sitting with his father, with the passing of his mother, there was only one responsibility left. And right now, his father was healthy, eating, living in a protected environment,, and now apparently enjoying the music and companionship that seemed to make his father desire to dance again.
 
“Charles, I’m happy you’re here.  Really.”  Lester started off with that simple statement.  But you could see his eyes informed Charles he had more to say.  “I would like to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”  Charles could not remember having a ‘man to man’ conversation with his father in his entire life. There was never any opportunity to sit face to face with this man to share anything personal with him.  Lester was not a cruel person, but he really wasn’t a very good conversationalist with his children; he was, however, a giving person.    
 
Winter in the upstate New York college of New Paltz, where Charles studied, wasn’t very windy;  but there was almost always a fresh blanket of new snow each morning. His parents were due to stop by the campus on their way home from Canada that day.  He had time for a quick visit to the library so he could review for a test.  Against his better judgement, he decided to hang his new winter coat in the hallway of the library. His mother spent a fortune on that coat; however, that wasn’t why this coat was special to Charles.  The coat was the first time in his life he owned something that wasn’t worn by someone else before.  By the time he went to retrieve it the coat, it was gone.  He searched everywhere, finally accepting the fact someone took it.  Charles came to meet his parents without his jacket that late morning.  He stood at the curb, shivering, as they arrived.  He now had to admit he lost it, and that was going to be hard. Lester gave him his winter jacket.  His father told him, “The car’s heater will keep me warm on the way home.  Here wear my jacket until you come home on your next break from school. We’ll buy you a new jacket then. It won’t be as nice as the one you had, but at least it will be a new one.”  Lester shined that day. ‘Will I ever do that for my children?’  Charles asked himself.
 
That memory presented itself to Charles as he sat next to his father on the edge of the dance floor. Lester wanted to bond with his son.  He had a question to ask Charles.  Charles listened.
 
“I really hope you are not angry with me Charles.”  The question so quickly to the point.  “Why in the world would I be angry with you, Dad?”  With the noise of the music and the people dancing, and laughing, both voices were just below a shout.
 
“Well, you just watched me dance with my friend.”  Charles nodded. Lester continued,  “Mom only just passed away, and now I’m dancing with Ruth.”  It really wasn’t just dancing with Ruth that Charles witnessed.  His father was holding both of Ruth’s hands, and they were both glaring into each other’s eyes as they danced.  And Charles walked in to see a relationship between his recently widowed father, and a strange woman.  Even at the age of 92, you need validation, approval and you want it to come from the ones that shared your life, and from whom you want love.  “Charles, are you angry that I am dancing with Ruth.  That I have a new friend.  That Ruth and I are comfortable with each other?” 
 
Charles wanted his answer to be an immediate response, so as to fill this gap in Lester’s sense of right and wrong, and not belay the answer with stupid silly jokes or meaningless innuendoes; it needs to be heard from Charles’s heart, sincere.  “Absolutely not.  I so want you to be happy Dad.  I want you to feel comfortable here.  It was a sad day when you left your home, and was brought here to live.  But now, apparently you have Ruth to keep you company.  And I am thrilled. I want you to feel you can introduce me to her, if you want.  When you are ready.  But know that I am happy for you.”
 
Lester smiled.

EIGHT

Lester December 1997: The day before his father was hospitalized, for his final time, Lester had become incontinent.  Charles panicked.  What if this facility thought his father was incapable of living there, would they require Lester to move into a nursing home?  It might have been a viable option if his mother were still alive.  He knew that if he were to do this, his father would just resign himself to his own prescribed doom.  Charles believed his father would will himself to die.  Charles panicked. 
 
It was a normal afternoon; his visit had a purpose this time other than to just say hi.  He was going to Maryland for the weekend; Charles’s cousin’s son was having his Bar Mitzvah.  He was looking forward to sharing this news with his father since his cousin was his father’s favorite niece. But he also wanted to make sure that his father knew in advance, as well as the facility’s program director, that he wouldn’t be here all weekend.  When Charles arrived, he found his father standing in the corner of the common sitting area.  Lester was the social butterfly, to be standing in a corner, isolated; there is something wrong.  When he approached his father, he understood.  Lester had become incontinent, he had defecated.  The smell was overpowering, and the embarrassment was equally shared between father and son.  Trying to remain unnoticed, there was a tragically real telltale stain on his father’s pants; clearly evident his father’s loss of control.  For a nurse, home health care provider, possibly an adult daughter this would be tragic, but doable.  For a son who has been taking a roller coaster ride of emotions with his father lately, for a son whose father was never emotionally reachable, was never the parent from which you normally seek support,  for a father who was never there to teach, to now expected to deal with a father who just took a huge dump in his pants, this might become a problem. Lester walked as quickly as he was able, with Charles’s direction, into his room, into the bathroom in his room.  And now Charles was undressing his father.  Lester stood there.  He was cover with excrement from the waist down, and between his legs, and throughout his groin.  Forget the clothes.  Soaked.  Where does a son begin?  How does a son begin?  Charles felt all the shame his father felt.  “Dad, you will be okay.  I promise.  Please relax and let me clean you up.  You can help if you want.  Step into the shower, and let the water wash as much of this off your body.  Do that while I place your soiled clothes into a laundry bag.”  Charles tried as best as he could to speak while not gagging on the smell, and the tactile sensations that truly nauseated him.  He knew how badly his father was feeling.  Ninety-three years old and his son is washing him like a child.  But Charles sensed a deep trust that his father gave him; or it could just have been a complete capitulation on his father’s part. Charles would like to have believed that hiis father trusted his son. Finally, Lester spoke.  A whisper.  “How do you know how to do this?”  “Oh dad, it’s okay. I learned, like you did, as a father.” Lester was silent while the shower water started to do the job of cleansing him of his sin.  Charles had given him a wash cloth to start scrubbing his lower body, while Charles was busy stuffing the canvass bag with his father’s clothing.  Charles placed the bag in the hallway for the home’s aides to take away.  Returning to his father still standing in the shower, Charles took a second wash cloth and joined his father in washing him. 
 
“But I am your father.”  Lester finally found the words that were gnawing at him while he was standing there naked in front of his son.
 
Charles finished cleaning his father, and felt surprising proud of the job he accomplished.  However, Charles  knew well enough that to his father this incontinence meant only one thing; he no longer had control of his body, and believed it will soon be his mind that will follow. That night, after Charles left, his father fell to the floor in his room. He was brought by ambulance to a local hospital to receive a series of tests, and determine his level of health.  His father died two days later.
 
Charles was now determined to embrace, since he is now truly alone, a belief  that will be his mantra throughout his remaining years,
 
‘…if you didn’t cry for me while I am alive, please don’t cry for me when I die.’
 

NINE

Virtual Apology: Tuesday November 11, 2003:  Lynn was flying in on Friday, they were to finish packing what was left in the townhouse, and start their drive to Florida on Sunday November 16; hoping to arrive at Charles’s new home on Tuesday morning.  It was now time for Charles to reinvent his life.  His former wife was successful in attaching a clause in their decree that she will get, from Charles, 38% of his pension in perpetuity.  It could have been worse, but Charles was also determined that he was going to retire with some dignity; and Long Island was no place to live with what was left of his piece of the pie. Florida, more specifically the west coast of Florida, offered Charles that sense of affordable sanctuary, a place that was still unspoiled from his family’s history.  Although they never forgave him, and to this most recent time, Charles’s children never offered  him any absolute form of validation for this move.  He just ran away.  He left them to fend for themselves.  And if he were to have any hindsight, Charles also realized, that his most profound mistake was convincing his girlfriend to stay with him after their argument.  This mistake would keep on giving throughout his married life, and cause immense regrets afterward.  In retrospection, he should have allowed her to leave him, go home that day.
 
So, finally all the packing was complete.  The movers were coming on Monday. He paid the airfare for Lynn to fly up to Long Island; she would help transport him et al  down south. He and Lynn were to move what was left after the movers packed and loaded his life into their 18-wheeler.  What was left included one very large dog and 3 cats [non were his but all were now under his care], and sundry of items that would support, and entertain Charles until the movers made it to Florida. He rented a van for himself, the cats and et al stuff; Lynn would drive his car with Jack in the back seat. It’s all set to happen. The big day. So much pent-up emotion that he was numb with anticipation.  But he was going to find that he was the only one that was excited for him, and he was the only one that cared.
 
Sunday November 17, 2003:  1995 and 1997 Charles buried both of his parents in a cemetery located in some remote dismal corner of Queens; surly no place for his parents to live, unless they were dead.  That was over 7 years ago; he still needs a map to find this place.  He wanted to do appropriate stuff before he left Long Island to drive to Florida; that would include a visit to their cemetery. Stand in front of their gravesites, and what, say good-bye?  How do you say good-bye to granite?  He knew that it was a ritual, in the Jewish list of dos and don’ts, to visit your parent’s gravesites at least once a year on the anniversary of their death.  Say a pray, leave a pebble on their gravestone, and have a conversation.  Charles hadn’t done any of that in the past seven years.  And he never really ever thought about doing that.  He was ready to instruct his children not to waste their money [or inheritance, if there was any], on caskets, headstones, and services which could cost well over $7000 to bury him.  Cremation was what he will recommend. Especially if they really didn’t care about him enough to visit every year, anyway.  Afterall, what would they carve on the headstone?  Beloved Son?  Okay, they made sense.  Beloved Father? Beloved Brother?  Probably not a good choice of words to use.  In any event, he will procrastinate on those thoughts for another day, another time.  Right now, he is standing in this forsaken corner of a ghetto, to say good-bye to his parents some 7 years later.  This is what they wanted; to be buried next to each other.  Charles had paid for the “Perpetual Care Program Special”, and it did look clean and neat.  So that was money well spent.  Standing in front of his parent’s grave, on a very chilly cloudy November Sunday, cigarette between two fingers of his left hand, and his right hand leaning on his mother’s headstone, he thought he needed to chat with them one last time.
 
“Mom, Dad.  Hi.  It’s been a really long time since we last spoke and held hands. It’s also been a really long time since I’ve last visited you both in this cemetery. Actually, I have to admit that this is the first time I’ve come back since the funeral. I’m sorry about that. I guess I just needed to let go and move on.  Between your last couple of years, and my divorce, I just needed time to myself.  I’m really sorry your lives ended with so much stress and pain.  I wish it hadn’t.  There were a lot of things that you didn’t accomplish with your kids, but one thing was for sure, you cared for us.  Didn’t work out so well for Steve, I guess. But I can’t believe that his thoughts today wouldn’t include some of the happy times we had as a family.  I guess I was your favorite child, uh mom?  Dad, I know your leaned towards Steve.  He had the musical talent, even some of your art skills, most definitely your brains, and pronouncedly those Ashkenazi characteristics that accentuates your eastern European heritage. Wow, Dad, your voice was amazing.  You knew the prayers to all the services, outshined everyone at our synagogue with your wisdom; I was so very proud of you and your love of Jews, their rituals, and prayers.  I know that I may have overdone the appetite thing of loving ‘treif’ too much. But that really wasn’t my fault.  I remember, and laugh every time I recall you telling me that ‘burying me in kosher salt for 3 days’ wasn’t going to be enough to make me kosher again. But I also remember you being the caring neighbor of our new German family that moved next door to us.  The father/husband was living in America after servicing time as a captured German soldier during World War II in a South Carolina prison of war camp.  When he was finally was able to buy next door and pay for passage of his wife and two young children from Germany, you stepped up and became that neighbor that helped them settle in to their new home.  You spoke Yiddish, which they were able to interpret with their German language. Almost as good an example of how caring you were as the time you gave me the jacket off your back on that cold winter day.  You worked really hard, learn new trades to always insure we were fed and sheltered. You couldn’t afford the chemicals to keep our lawn weed free, but you were so proud of the well-manicured lawn of weeds you created.  That Whipping Willow tree in the backyard was your pride and joy, and reward as an accomplished gardener you became, as was that amazing Victory Garden and Dogwood tree.  And the wooden fence in the backyard was always freshly designed  and adorned with wooden characters; each one brightly painted. You sang me to sleep with Ave Maria; which confused the heck out of my Jewish kid’s mind.  But you sounded amazing.  And although you never had the patience to teach me sports, I was quietly proud of you as you excelled in the neighborhood hand-ball games.”  Charles stepped on the last ambers of his almost completely smoked cigarette.  Pulled out a fresh one.  Cupped his hand to shelter the flame, and lite a new cigarette, and with new thoughts. 
 
“Mom.  Wow, you were the matriarch for sure.  You had an idea that things needed to be done a certain way, even if your oldest son was so much brighter than you, and knew your way was crazy, you persisted.  I think with Steve, you may have persisted too much.  I know you looked at me, and saw your golden blond hair baby that was more of the stereotypical character of your English heritage; then decided that your second born child was the better creation.  And you somehow made that clear to Steve.   You lost your mom as a young teen, and was transported to America almost immediately thereafter.  Your father died right after, and your large family was narrowed down to just one sibling that was assigned the job to nurture you and your younger brother. She was forever bitter for that decision, and I guess you followed suit in some ways. Pictures don’t lie. In your formidable years you were a stunningly beautiful young woman, great at shorthand, and was successful in the secretarial pool; a skill that would support you till you retired. You fell in love a couple of times, but it was my father you married; and at times, confessed to your golden-haired child that there was someone else that had also stolen your heart at the same time.  It gave me an earlier peek at martial mistakes and regrets. Wow, what an amazing cook you were.  Everything from diners for 20, at our annual Seders, to picnics at the State parks.  You did it all on an incredibly small Levitt stove and a refrigerator that could barely hold more than 2 days worth of food. No dishwasher, no clothes dryer;  not even after they were popular home items. You and dad smoked; a lot. And after you kind of quit, it was to be your bathroom air freshener for years after.  You were a true New York City girl; driving wasn’t a necessary thing for a young girl to be interested in.  But, soon you moved to the suburbs; a transition that took a lot of years with which to acclimate.  The mud, bugs, and stores. Shopping centers that, in the earlier Long Island days, were farther than a simple walk down Jerome Avenue. So, with the forgiveness of the front yard tree, that overcame being run over many times as you backed out of the driveway, you taught yourself to drive.  And, so you did.  You drove Steve and me to the beach, shopped the A&P, Modells, and Roosevelt Mall, and to my most favorite place of all, Cookies Restaurant.  Cookies was where you took me, and me alone, to learn the evil ways of the unkosher world; ham, shrimp, and dairy with meat.  The threat was real; tell Dad and ‘you’re dead’.  If someone ever did you any injustice on the roadways, while you were navigating our way home, your most infamous spell was imposed by the words ‘…may your back wheels fall off…’.  Which was appropriately sandwiched between whispered words that I just know were wrong.”  Another cigarette.
 
“What you both taught me, however, was marriage was forever.  It was a very difficult day when I told you both that mine wasn’t going well, and would fall short of ‘forever’.  You both didn’t look very happy, but you supported me.  And it was that support you unconditionally gave me, that I most dearly will miss most of all.  You never judged me, although Mom, you were really pissed when you saw the hickey Royce gave me.  That may have been that one thing that turned you off from Royce being my girlfriend.  You were pleased with Arlene.  I guess that wasn’t the best decision, was it mom?  And when you couldn’t cuddle me anymore, you went straight to my children.  A huge chunk of your savings to went to buy Scott his first car; Benetton was the only clothes to buy for your granddaughter; under the dining room table would be the best place to find grandma, while she played with the grandkids as the other guests ate dessert. Lester so willingly shared his prized brushes and all his art supplies to his artistic grandson, while sharing stories and hugs to his granddaughter. But both were set in your ways, as you got older. While Arlene’s parents chatted in the living room, you both sat watching Wheel of Fortune in the den. I have to admit, however, you did travel; England, Israel, Italy.  And you loved your mink stole, didn’t you mom?  It kind of made up for the 900 square foot home you lived in for over 40 years; the one without a dishwasher or clothes dryer.  It balanced your life to wear nice clothes and attend parties with your friends.  And, I have to admit that you both had some seriously loyal friends. Most were from the ICC, but many were from dad’s career as a post office clerk, and mom’s weekly Mahjong games.  You never isolated yourselves, and I guess that was what actually made being your caregiver, at the end of your lives, so much more difficult. Suddenly you fell mom, and your world totally fell apart.  But you knew this was happening, didn’t you mom. You saw the end before anyone else.  With an unopened container of Depends in the closet, you started to isolate yourself months, maybe a year before you fell. So, when you no longer were in charge of your life, and Lester was not prepared, not trained, to take over, you weren’t left with much more than a son who cared, but who was sadly and totally ill-equipped.  You saw your life doing a 180 long before anyone else, and you made sure I had all the arrangements for your death setup.  You tried to make amends with your older son, but I’m afraid that was a bit too late for that to happen.  So, you laid there first in the hospital, then in the nursing home dreaming of the better days.  While dad just prayed for those days to reappear, he evidently became resolute that there would be no miracles for you or your wife.”  Charles swore this would be his last cigarette.  Cupped his hands together, successfully igniting the flakes of tobacco.
 
“I hope it helps to know now, mom, dad, that I speak with Steve on occasion. He will have a serious bout with his mental stability, but you will be proud to know his brother stepped in to help him.  Steve isn’t emotional well, but he is happy in the world that he has built for himself.  He even has a girlfriend.  See, he ended up better off than your golden child that still shies away from that proverbial smoking gun.  And, now, your favorite son is moving to Florida.  Packing up almost 58 years here on Long Island, packing up some memories, and trashing some, packing up all your paintings dad, and your recipe box, and your school ribbon mom.  I have all your photographs, but the black pages of those albums need to be trashed. I have your Silverware from Passover, and everyone’s seder wine cups, your Punch and Judy glass statues, the wood carved peasants, and  the hand painted crest grandma Dora had created for her in gold foil.  I have everything, except our original Chanukiah.  I was not able to find it.  That bothers me.”  One more cigarette.
 
“It’s late mom, dad.  And it’s a bit chilly.  I need to get home.  I’m all packed.  Moving on Sunday to Florida.  I think I told you that already.  I’m not sure I will ever visit your sites again.  But I promise I will never forget you; either of you.  It saddens me that this will be my last time I’ll be standing here with you.  But honestly, I’m not sure I really believe you’re here.  Maybe I do.  It helps to say that as I leave you.  I’ll work that out somehow.  Okay.  I promised this would be my last cigarette.” 
 
Charles flips the still glowing butt with the wind before he lights up another one.  The glowing ambers travel and land near another grave. ‘Gotta make sure that butt is out before I leave.’  Charles thought.  He forgets.
 
“Mom, Dad. Goodbye. I love you dearly. I’m really glad your gravesites look neat.  I’m sure it will stay that way. I paid for that perpetual care program; you know. I’m going to Florida. The side of Florida that I have no clue about, the side of Florida that doesn’t remind me of home.  I need a complete change, and the east coast is way too New York; it will spark too many memories.  I need to start a new life, with new memories. But I am really worried, no I’m really scared.  I sold my home here, paid the balance due on my new home.  What if I don’t like it there?  What if I don’t like the people there?  Can I ever come home after I leave it?”
 
Charles leans into their grave stones, bends his knees as he puts his left hand on his father’s headstone, and his right hand on his mom’s.  He leans further into the center of his parents, and closes his eyes. He kisses each stone. Tears. A deep breath. He whispers, as if he was being caressed by them; ‘no need to shout now, they are next to me’. Then from deep within his soul, all of his emotions, all of his fears, all of his doubts in his decisions were all rising from his gut to his mind, all at the same time.  And without any hesitation, any second thought, from his heart, Charles utter his final words to his parents, “Mom, Dad I truly do not know what the fuck I’m about to do with my life.”  He kissed their grave stones one more time.  Stood up, using their head stones as support.  Placed the stones he had picked earlier on each headstone.  He turn without any hesitation, walked to his car parked at the curb.  He left the cemetery and went back to what will be his home for just the next 2 days.
 
At about the time he reached the southern border of South Carolina and Georgia, his mind wandered, ending up at his parent’s gravesite. As clearly as the day he last visited his parents, he remembered. ‘What was I thinking when I said ‘fuck’ in front of his parent’s gravesites. When did I ever curse in front of them?’ He thought about it, but that couldn’t make it happen. He needed to apologize, but how was that possible now.  He tried to calculate how many sleepless nights this lack of censorship on his part will cost him in the years ahead.  He decided that when he makes his one-year anniversary trip back to Long Island he will find time to drive back to the cemetery to ask for their forgiveness. ‘This is silly. Just drive’, Charles scolded himself.
 
April 2004: Charles’s home office: Months pass and the virtual world was getting more mature.  A new tool, Google’s Map was created.  The algorithms were just simply amazing. Zoom anywhere on the earth, and you have suddenly become that seasoned world explorer.  Not really, but it was amazing nonetheless.  What a fun tool to have; type in an address and the globe spins until it finds your quest, and with the magic of a spirited wand, and Aladdin’s flying carpet, you are taken on a trip in a dive bomber, zooming anywhere into the Earth.  Charles found the cemetery, and proceeded to zoom into the exact location of his parent’s sites. This was a bit freaky, but so cool.  He sat for a moment, staring at the computer screen, and his parent’s gravesites. Remembered his last visit. Recalled his last conversation. And then, he found himself involuntarily leaning into the computer screen, as he did, last year, into the space between the headstones. “Mom, Dad I arrived safely.  Life hear is really okay.  Working on creating a new life, and doing well, kind of succeeding.  So, mom, dad there is something I need to say to you both.  I was really nervous that day when I last visited. The thought that I would no longer have you near me frightened me a lot. I was getting ready to leave what had been my home, leave you.   So, I remembered, I cursed that day I visited you.  I am really sorry about that.  Please forgive me. Rest in peace.  I will always love you dearly.  I will always miss you both.  Good-bye.”  Control Q. 
 
Charles never visited their sites again; virtually or otherwise.