Things I'm Seeing Without You Page 10

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ he said. ‘Thank you for coming.’

  There were a few return blinks.

  ‘My name is Duncan Fowler. Behind me is my daughter and business partner, Tess Fowler. We specialize in unconventional funerals. And today, I would like to talk to you about doing something truly spectacular with the end of your life.’

  A man in a stocking cap sniffled.

  ‘It may seem a little odd to you, but I’ve come to realize that I care a lot about death rituals. Rituals for grief are some of the most important ones we have. And I’m trying to find ways to broaden the conversation about them.’

  He looked back at me. I nodded. He wasn’t botching this, for once.

  ‘What I really want to do is something meaningful, something that matches your personality. A ceremony that helps people feel like they have experienced something real about you.’

  The man with one visible eye had it open wide now.

  ‘All of you have lived long lives, and I’m sure there are many people who love you. I know it would help them to have an opportunity to remember you when your time comes. So, if any of you would like help with your final arrangements, I’m willing to assist you in any way I can. That’s why I’m here today.’

  I exhaled and looked around the room. Dad hadn’t said anything stupid. In fact, he had kind of nailed it. But the crowd might as well have been a still photograph. Finally, the one-eyed man adjusted his glasses and raised his hand.

  ‘I have a question,’ he said.

  Dad looked him in the eye and nodded. The man’s face constricted in anger suddenly, as if some switch on his back had been flipped.

  ‘Why can’t you see that it’s completely useless?’ he yelled.

  The room filled with institutional silence.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said my father. ‘What exactly?’

  The man looked at him incredulously.

  ‘The salad bar. It’s useless. A waste of space. Why do we have to pay for that when nobody wants it here?’

  A dark-haired attendant quickly came over and put her hand on the man’s shoulder. She smiled.

  ‘OK, Mr Cole,’ she said. ‘We all know your opinion on the salad bar by now.’

  ‘Dad . . .’ I said.

  ‘The real problem is,’ the woman with the fluffy hair chimed in, ‘is that my daughter is supposed to pick me up in an hour. But she’s not going to know which room I’m in. Who can help me with that?’

  I walked over to the attendant, a Latina woman with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail.

  ‘What are they so upset about?’ I said.

  My dad stood next to me.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’s not you. Most of these people are from the Memory Care Unit. They have their good days and bad days.’

  ‘Memory care,’ I said. ‘As in . . .’

  ‘Alzheimer’s. Other forms of dementia. Many of these patients have a high level of impairment.’

  A few more people in the back had their hands up now. My dad looked at them.

  ‘Why are they at my talk?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s good to get them out of their rooms. They don’t have a lot of outside interaction.’

  I stepped off to the side, wondering how quickly we could leave.

  Then I saw the woman.

  I’m not sure if she had been in the room before, or if she had just arrived during the Q & A. She had a bright white Betty Page haircut and a lipsticky smile. It looked like she had gone directly from age nineteen into old age without anything in between. She was motioning me to the back row. When I reached her, she touched my wrist.

  ‘I enjoyed the speech,’ she said. ‘My name is Mamie Lee.’

  I looked down at her. Her soft brown eyes darted back and forth.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I just need to get my dad, so . . .’

  I started to move forward but she tugged on my shirtsleeve.

  ‘I would like to plan a funeral,’ she said.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘My dad has some forms I can leave with you. Maybe you can go over them with a family member.’

  ‘That’s not what I want,’ she said calmly.

  Dad was looking at us now.

  ‘I would like to have my funeral in two weeks,’ she said.

  I closed my eyes. I was starting to suspect the woman at the front desk of sabotage. When I opened my eyes again, Mamie Lee was looking right at me.

  ‘I was just admitted here,’ she said. ‘I’m in the early stages, but I’ve seen it move fast, and that’s how it usually works in my family. I would like to have one of your celebration funerals before I’m too far gone. Is that something you can do? Have it while you’re still alive?’

  I looked over at my dad. His mouth was open. He didn’t seem capable of providing an answer, which wasn’t surprising.

  ‘Of course!’ I said. ‘We . . . do that all the time.’

  I was not looking at my father now. Only Mamie Lee.

  ‘Do you know what kind of celebration you want?’ I asked.

  The woman smiled to herself.

  ‘Oh yes, darling,’ she said. ‘I would like a burlesque funeral.’

  And then I watched my father’s face turn a shade I had never seen before.

  ‘What the hell were you thinking? Saying yes without asking me?’

  We were back in the parking lot of Sunrise Commons, watching the fake old people go about their days. Oh, and Dad was kind of pissed.

  ‘Have you had a total meltdown, Tess? Is that what’s happening?’

  ‘I was drumming up business,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘I’m not happy,’ he said. ‘That room was full of people who barely know their own names. Now a woman wants to have a burlesque funeral. There are some ethical issues to consider here.’

  ‘Oh. You’re ethical now? You were the one who wanted to prey on nursing homes in the first place. I know, Tess. Let’s go to the place where everyone’s slowly dying and sell them some funerals!’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Also, Mamie’s different. You heard her describe the situation herself. She’s fine right now.’

  ‘She wants people to take off their clothes at her funeral.’

  ‘We don’t really know the details yet.’

  I watched as a robust old man left Sunrise with his golf clubs. He looked like a walking Viagra ad.

  ‘She might have been having a rare lucid day, Tess,’ Dad said. ‘Tomorrow she could wake up with no idea what she said.’

  He opened the door to his Volkswagen, but he didn’t get in. He just stood there between the door and the car.

  ‘What’s the point of a living funeral anyway?’ he said. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

  I stepped closer to him.

  ‘Maybe what doesn’t make sense is having a funeral when you’re dead,’ I said.

  ‘Give me a break, Tess.’

  ‘Seriously. Think about it for a second. Why have a party when you aren’t going to be there to enjoy it? What sense does that make? You wouldn’t have a birthday party and not go?’

  My dad got in the car then and sat behind the wheel.

  ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘We’re leaving. This was a disaster.’

  I opened the door. He went to turn on the ignition, but I grabbed his hand.

  ‘I mean it, Dad,’ I said. ‘Maybe she wants to have a celebration when she can actually see everyone she loves one last time? Mamie’s not dead yet, but she’s dying. She’s losing the personality that she once had. That’s a form of dying, anyway. And she knows it’s happening. Why can’t she celebrate the person she was before she’s gone completely?’

  My dad just sat there a minute, gripping the wheel. He tightened his lips.

  ‘What if her family shows up and says I’m taking advantage of an impaired woman? Meanwhile, there are naked people dancing everywhere. That could be bad, Tess. I can’t risk another lawsuit after Nantucket
.’

  I looked at his face. It seemed like he was actually scared.

  ‘You were all gung-ho this morning,’ I said. ‘What happened? When did you become such a chickenshit?’

  ‘I’m done talking about this.’

  ‘Just let me meet with her again,’ I said.

  He shook his head slowly, but he didn’t look at me.

  ‘She wants something outside the norm,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that what we’re in business to do?’

  I waited for his answer, but it didn’t come. He just started the car and drove us away without looking back.

  My phone rang later that night.

  I was up watching old-timey burlesque dancers on the Internet, which definitely beat my dad’s Playboys when it came to vintage porn. These women were bosses. There were no airbrushed nipples and cutesy little girl poses. The burlesque ladies shook and shimmied in spectacular clubs full of men in sharp suits. It seemed impossible that Mamie used to do this.

  I picked up the phone.

  ‘Was it that bad?’

  Daniel’s voice was sharper than usual.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  He sighed.

  ‘Tess, it’s a little weird to send someone a naked picture and then not hear from them for an entire day.’

  ‘You must be crushed,’ I said. ‘Do you feel betrayed? Like you put yourself out there and got nothing back?’

  ‘I see what you’re doing,’ he said.

  I looked away from the computer and listened for Daniel’s breath.

  ‘It wasn’t bad,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your picture.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘So . . . Yeah.’

  There was another pause.

  ‘I guess we’ve seen each other naked now,’ I said.

  He was quiet. But the air felt charged with something suddenly. I didn’t want it to be, but I couldn’t make it stop. We didn’t say anything for ten seconds or so. Then I asked the first thing that came to mind.

  ‘How did he do it?’

  Another silence. I heard Daniel breathing on the phone. ‘Pills,’ he said finally. ‘The ones he hadn’t been taking. You didn’t know?’

  ‘No. Not the details. I never really tried to find out.’

  I closed my eyes.

  ‘They tried to pump his stomach,’ he said, ‘but it was too late. He was unconscious in the bathroom in our hall and the paramedic couldn’t bring him back.’

  I lay my head down on my father’s desk.

  ‘Did you have any idea?’ I asked. ‘That he was capable of that?’

  ‘I don’t know. If I didn’t live with him, I never would have suspected anything. I knew he wasn’t going to class, and eventually I found out he wasn’t taking his meds. But right when I was really starting to get worried, he seemed to get better. I thought he was getting back to normal. The only sign was the park thing.’

  ‘Park thing?’

  Daniel took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s kind of a whole long story.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I said.

  Another breath.

  ‘We were on one of our walks,’ he said. ‘Even when he wasn’t feeling great, he still wanted to walk. And on this day, he said he wanted to go to the Public Gardens. He used to go there with his family on vacation when he was a kid. So we walked across the bridge from campus. There had been a lot of rain lately, and I remember the Charles River was really high. We stopped to watch it from the bridge, and the current seemed so much faster than usual.

  ‘There were no boats out even though it was sunny. Jonah was in a decent mood, and he was telling me about the history of the Charles, how it used to be so full of sewage that people who fell in had to get tetanus shots. I wasn’t really listening to him, though. I was watching his face to see if it looked more like the Jonah I knew. And there was something there. His eyes seemed to have more life to them.

  ‘We walked into the gardens, and I followed Jonah to the Lagoon Bridge. The swan boats weren’t going yet, but they were parked against the banks. We sat down on a bench near one of the weeping willows. Jonah had been talking a lot, but suddenly he got really quiet. And I noticed he was distracted, looking at something on the other side of the lagoon.

  ‘Somehow I had missed it, but almost directly across from us there was this homeless guy sitting there, dressed in multiple layers of sweaters and suit coats. I couldn’t see his face because he had a hood pulled tight over his head. But I could see a grey beard spilling over his chest. And he was surrounded on all sides by these giant blue translucent garbage bags full of white stuff. He must have had six or seven of these bags, each one full to bursting.

  ‘After he got settled, he opened one up and reached his hand inside. Then he brought it out and threw a fistful of the white stuff in the air. It rained down in clumps on to the water and the grass surrounding him. And suddenly, it was like a signal had been sent to every bird in the park at once. They all descended on the same spot like vultures.

  ‘It was bread, of course, the white stuff. And once he started flinging it, he didn’t stop. Sometimes he shredded the slices with his hands. Sometimes he chucked them whole. Soon, we couldn’t even see him any more for all the dive-bombing birds. Ducks. Pigeons. Seagulls. Crows. It was a battle royal, which was ridiculous because it was clear he was never going to run out of bread. He had enough to feed every bird in the park until they were stuffed. He was the god of bread.

  ‘When I looked over at Jonah, I noticed that he was crying. And not just a little. There were tears pouring down his face. He stood up and told me he couldn’t be there any more. And I put my arm around him and walked with him until we had left everything behind. The park. And the lagoon. And the old man with the bread. I tried talking about it at first. “Where did he even get all the bread?” I asked. But he was silent. So I asked him what was wrong, and he couldn’t explain it to me. It was only after we’d been walking a while that he looked me in the eye. And he said, “I just know how that guy feels.”

  ‘But he wouldn’t say anything else about it. When we got back to campus he seemed OK again. He calmed down and he apologized for his breakdown in the park. He even laughed about it a little. I told him I thought maybe he should see somebody at Health Services, a counsellor, and he assured me he would. He told me I was a good friend and that he was lucky he knew me. And then we played video games for a couple of hours and went to bed like it was any other day.

  ‘I felt better the next day, like maybe I had gotten through to him. But, after that, he wasn’t around the room very much. Then he disappeared for a couple of days, and I never saw him again.’

  I wiped my runny nose on my sleeve. I had started crying at some point, but I wasn’t sure when.

  ‘What happened after that?’ I asked.

  ‘My parents flew out and came to campus the next day. They moved me to a hotel by the airport. I made them stay around for a week, but nothing really happened. A vigil outside. A moment of silence in the cafeteria. A discussion about suicide prevention education. Then we went home.’

  ‘What about the funeral?’

  ‘There was no funeral.’

  His voice was softer now.

  ‘It was just a private thing for the family. I called his mom the day after it happened, and asked if I could come. She said no.’

  ‘Did she say why?’

  ‘She said it would be too much. Too painful to see her son’s friends, other people his age. She apologized, but she couldn’t do it. There was a charity set up somewhere. I could donate to that if I wanted.’

  ‘So you never saw his body?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about when it actually happened?’

  ‘By the time I heard, they had already taken him away.’

  I nodded, even though I knew he couldn’t hear that through the phone.

  ‘Before my parents got there I was in our dorm room by
myself. And I found this folder he had kept. Inside it was a list of things he was going to do when he got better. It was from a self-help book or something. Some of them were simple like “get a part-time job”. Others were a little more Jonah: “learn to be a projectionist at a revival movie house”. But the one that stuck out to me was “study away in Sicily”. It’s not that big a deal, I guess. A lot of college kids study abroad. But there was something about picturing him in another country that just brought it all home. If things had gone a different way, I could imagine him there so easily.’

  ‘Why didn’t anyone else know about his depression? Why wasn’t someone else there to stop him?’

  Daniel sighed.

  ‘He didn’t have any other good friends, Tess,’ he said. ‘Everybody liked him, but not many people knew him. I think we were it. You and me. We were all he had.’

  ‘That can’t be true,’ I said.

  ‘Can you see why I didn’t want it to end?’ said Daniel.

  I sat up suddenly. The phone was wet and hot against my ear.

  ‘I can’t do this,’ I said.

  Daniel’s voice sounded desperate when he spoke.

  ‘Tess,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I mean. This. The distance. The phone. I can’t do this kind of thing any more. I don’t think it’s good for me.’

  He was silent for a moment.

  ‘So, what are you saying exactly?’ he said.

  I debated for a second about whether to speak the sentence in my mind. It was just hovering there, waiting to change everything. But I couldn’t hold it back. It seemed like the only thing left to do.

  ‘What I’m saying is,’ I said, ‘no more phones.’

  I went back to Sunrise the next day.

  I worried about what to tell my dad, but when I woke up he wasn’t there. I’d heard him talking on the phone the night before, giggling like an idiot, but that was the only thing out of the ordinary. So I drove back to the commons and showed up during visiting hours. When I got back to the Memory Care Unit, I immediately saw two men get into a screaming match over a game of Connect Four. They had to be sent to their rooms like children. I started to wonder if I had it in me to hang around this place.