We didn’t know if you would live long enough to celebrate your 82nd birthday. My brother warned me not to be startled. You commanded, “No tears.”
Even with tubes pumping fluids in and out of your tobacco-scarred body, you were beautiful, your skin translucent. You joked about ending up like a newly born with “no teeth, baby skin, and diapers.”
After the grandchildren sang “Happy Birthday,” they went to a barbecued rib fest, on you of course. I stayed behind to tell you how much I admired you. Your five kids, disparate though we were, you celebrated each of us distinctly. I remembered your reaction to my tattoo. You laughed and said, “I thought the surprises were over.”
As we reminisced, I thanked you for your unfettered support. You were shocked when I told you how proud I was to be your son. You hated your job as a park attendant, but kept at it long after you needed to, so as not to be a burden. Your whole life provided a future for your children, often at a high personal sacrifice.
I wanted to tell you how easy it is to let go. Years ago, paralyzed and hemorrhaging from spinal surgery gone wrong; my spirit, heart and mind imploded as morphine, fear and pain colluded. Past and future collapsed as I drifted off into a seductive, dissolving vagueness. But I awoke to Larry’s pleading, “Don’t die on me,” and returned through his voice, eyes and breath.
I wish I could carry you safely into the void. I am well practiced: cleaning morgue bodies when I was an orderly, witnessing vultures descend upon the Himalayan sky burials, tending hungry ghosts amidst the AIDS carnage, and living through my own death.
My relation to life remains porous, elusive. I fear the waiting more than dying.
Saying goodbye, I had no solace to give you. All I had were tears and my own sorrow. I realized I would never see you again.
You cared for so many. Who will be there when you call out like Daddy did for you? I’m sorry I can’t be there. You gave me so much. I wish you clarity and courage for a safe journey, Mom. Carry my love forward. May you find peace.
This commentary is excerpted from my voice-over for my collaborative video short broadcast on VT PBS.