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This is the nonfiction story of one man's quest to publish a fiction novel:
Chapter 12: Waiting No Longer
deathSince this blog is telling a story, and technically it’s telling a story about telling a story, I figure it’s my duty to finish the tale I began last week about my girlfriend’s grandfather. The story within a story within a story, if you will.
On Saturday morning, the blood leaking into his lungs started bubbling up out of his mouth. Some even congealed at the edge of his lips. Each breath was a painful gurgle that caused his entire frame to sputter and stall like an old car engine.
And at this point, finally, his wife of sixty years told him to stop fighting. That it was okay to let go. That his parents and his siblings and his beloved dog were waiting to take him away to Heaven. “They have been your guardian angel. Now it’s time for you to become ours.”
I’ve never seen so much emotion in my life. His youngest son, Jimmy – a massive, towering, hulking giant of a man – leaned over his dying father, kissed him on the forehead, and drenched him in his tears. “You gotta go, dad. No more suffering. Please just go. Please.”
Obviously his entire family was crying. Obviously my girlfriend was crying. But her father, a man who had married into the family, was also a mess. And I was too. I couldn’t stop my face from scrunching up like a squeezed stress ball at the inevitable onslaught of red, soaking wet eyes. I didn’t think I had a heart, but how could you not be impacted by this sight?
And then, a scene straight out of a movie occurred. The youngest daughter began singing, then two others joined in, followed by my girlfriend. Soon all the women in the room were singing in perfect harmony, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.
Five hours later, on Saturday, March 11, he was gone.
The mood was one of powerful sorrow, but there was also a sense of something else. Hidden within their flood of grief was a flood of relief. He had been literally a skeleton of his former self for the past week, and finally his struggle was over. Finally he had moved on, and now he would be watching over them. And there’s a lot of them, so it is going to be quite an undertaking. He needed to get started right away. But honestly, is there any better job?
So the relief was quite visible. They had been preparing themselves for this moment for a long time, too long, and when it finally hit, they were just glad it was over.
But another flood swept through the area as well. Again, as if taken straight from a movie, the perfect 75-degree weather (a record breaking temperature for this time of year in Philadelphia) morphed into a torrential downpour. A great man had left Earth, and the planet wept right along with his family.
I will never forget the sight of watching someone die. Not slowly drifting into sleep like my dog when she was put down a few weeks ago, her tongue going from practically detached from her mouth and dragging on the floor in powerful convulsions to faintly sliding back into her mouth, her eyes gently closing shut, her breath slightly easing, her heart barely beating, and then nothing. No, this was nothing like that, and its image will haunt the back of my eyelids forever.
Similarly, the smell of cancer that ate away at me while eating a cheesesteak, trying to coax me into vomiting with each bite I took, will never leave my memory.
But what will stick with me the most is the undying devotion this family had for its patriarch. They never noticed the all-consuming smell of death. They weren’t affected by the congealed gathering of dark blood in his mouth. When they looked at their father, they saw their father, the man who raised them to be the exceptional people they are. The exceptional people that stood over him from Tuesday to Saturday, never dreaming of being anywhere else but by his side, with him, and with their mother. And together, as a family, they watched their anchor rise to Heaven. And they know, every single one of them knows, that they will be reunited again.
On Saturday morning, the blood leaking into his lungs started bubbling up out of his mouth. Some even congealed at the edge of his lips. Each breath was a painful gurgle that caused his entire frame to sputter and stall like an old car engine.
And at this point, finally, his wife of sixty years told him to stop fighting. That it was okay to let go. That his parents and his siblings and his beloved dog were waiting to take him away to Heaven. “They have been your guardian angel. Now it’s time for you to become ours.”
I’ve never seen so much emotion in my life. His youngest son, Jimmy – a massive, towering, hulking giant of a man – leaned over his dying father, kissed him on the forehead, and drenched him in his tears. “You gotta go, dad. No more suffering. Please just go. Please.”
Obviously his entire family was crying. Obviously my girlfriend was crying. But her father, a man who had married into the family, was also a mess. And I was too. I couldn’t stop my face from scrunching up like a squeezed stress ball at the inevitable onslaught of red, soaking wet eyes. I didn’t think I had a heart, but how could you not be impacted by this sight?
And then, a scene straight out of a movie occurred. The youngest daughter began singing, then two others joined in, followed by my girlfriend. Soon all the women in the room were singing in perfect harmony, and I’m not exaggerating when I say it was the most beautiful sound I have ever heard.
Five hours later, on Saturday, March 11, he was gone.
The mood was one of powerful sorrow, but there was also a sense of something else. Hidden within their flood of grief was a flood of relief. He had been literally a skeleton of his former self for the past week, and finally his struggle was over. Finally he had moved on, and now he would be watching over them. And there’s a lot of them, so it is going to be quite an undertaking. He needed to get started right away. But honestly, is there any better job?
So the relief was quite visible. They had been preparing themselves for this moment for a long time, too long, and when it finally hit, they were just glad it was over.
But another flood swept through the area as well. Again, as if taken straight from a movie, the perfect 75-degree weather (a record breaking temperature for this time of year in Philadelphia) morphed into a torrential downpour. A great man had left Earth, and the planet wept right along with his family.
I will never forget the sight of watching someone die. Not slowly drifting into sleep like my dog when she was put down a few weeks ago, her tongue going from practically detached from her mouth and dragging on the floor in powerful convulsions to faintly sliding back into her mouth, her eyes gently closing shut, her breath slightly easing, her heart barely beating, and then nothing. No, this was nothing like that, and its image will haunt the back of my eyelids forever.
Similarly, the smell of cancer that ate away at me while eating a cheesesteak, trying to coax me into vomiting with each bite I took, will never leave my memory.
But what will stick with me the most is the undying devotion this family had for its patriarch. They never noticed the all-consuming smell of death. They weren’t affected by the congealed gathering of dark blood in his mouth. When they looked at their father, they saw their father, the man who raised them to be the exceptional people they are. The exceptional people that stood over him from Tuesday to Saturday, never dreaming of being anywhere else but by his side, with him, and with their mother. And together, as a family, they watched their anchor rise to Heaven. And they know, every single one of them knows, that they will be reunited again.
Matthew Ulmer @ BookSay
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