My father had his third heart attack one hour before I boarded the Qantas flight from LA to Sydney. I got the phone call from his new wife. “No point in coming. Your father is in the hospital and needs rest. You can’t bother him now.”
I boarded the plane in LA and ground my teeth for fifteen hours over the Pacific Ocean until we landed. The fog of jet leg wrapped around my brain while I collected my bag and crossed the familiar trail to the taxi stand, hailed a cab to my father’s house and waited for two hours at the front door with my head resting on my suitcase. A neighbor walked across the road. “Are you Mr. Stewart’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to come in for tea?”
I shook my head. “Thank you but I’ll just wait here for his wife.”
Five minutes later the neighbor brought me a tray—two steaming hot scones with red jam and whipped cream and a pot of black tea with brown sugar and milk. My neck flushed red and blotchy. “So nice of you,” I said between bites of scones.
“You know, your father had a heart attack while your step mother…”
“His new wife,” I interrupted.
“Well, his new wife and he were shouting at each other. I heard her say she needed some time to settle in.”
“Oh. I guess they were referring to me.” A lump of scone stuck in my throat.
“Well dear, I wouldn’t have told you, but, I thought you should know what happened. She’s a nasty one isn’t she?”
I looked up at the old face, sallow and knotted with worry lines.
“I haven’t met her yet,” I said.
“Oh.”
“Did she say what hospital they were going to?”
“The ambulance took them. Otherwise, I’d take you if I knew.”
“Does the wife have a cell phone?”
The neighbor shook her head. “Don’t think so. They were in an awful rush. I told her to call me if she needed me. She has my number.”
A telephone rang inside the house and she rushed inside. I wondered how I could figure out where my father had gone. A few minutes later, the neighbor ambled out, dark sunglasses and a tissue in her hand. “He’s in the ICU.”
“Which hospital?” I asked.
We stared at each other for a moment, the pavement underneath me buckling and spewing with post-flight vertigo. A creeping nausea threatened to bring the scones back up. I wanted to run away but absentmindedly finished drinking the pot of tea. Caffeine surged through my veins and strengthened my resolve. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
The afternoon sun hung red and ready to sink behind puffs of gray cloud. A bicycle bell buzzed from a passing bicycle and a train sounded its whistle in the distance— a mournful, haunting sound. I felt an empty pit grow within, wider and deeper.
“What is going on?” I said with more than a hint of anger in my voice.
The neighbor hung her head and looked down at the pavement. “It’s your father dear…. he’s … well… he’s…not coming home anymore.”
“Well, of course he is,” I said. “I mean, he’s an old soldier. He just keeps on going.” I smelled rain in the air, a fresh country scent, like clothes after you hang them to dry in the sun. I took a shaky breath and tears stung my eyes.
The neighbor kicked a small rock with her shoe and told me to sit down. I took two more paces towards her instead. She reached for my hand and held on too tight. I pulled my hand away.
“He’s passed on you see,” she said with a cough. “Just now…he passed away just now….”
My face twisted and moved in strange ways. I let tears roll and swallowed down a familiar taste of bile jumping into my throat, burning and running back down like acid rain. “I could have said goodbye, if I’d known where…”
“Come, I’ll take you,” she said.
At the hospital I navigated stares and guards blocking my way, receptionists whispering into phones. “Let me see my father,” I shouted at anyone who would listen.
A security guard led me upstairs to the tenth floor where a nurse took me to the room but stood in front of the door. “You just missed his passing,” she said with downcast eyes. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in……” I pushed past her into the room where my father’s frailty lay covered to the shoulders with a blanket. He felt feverish to the touch, but there remained a bristling energy that fooled me into thinking he was still alive. “Dad?”
The new wife shook her head. “He’s gone. Too late.” Her eyes appeared dry and she backed away from the bed.
“You stupid old man,” I said to my father. “I wanted to come last month but you said the timing was wrong. Couldn’t you have waited for me?”
I placed my head on his chest and felt a sudden surge of sadness.
My father’s chest fluttered and heaved up, and then down into a long, long sigh... I jumped back and there was the old bugger’s smile, frozen to his dead face.
I boarded the plane in LA and ground my teeth for fifteen hours over the Pacific Ocean until we landed. The fog of jet leg wrapped around my brain while I collected my bag and crossed the familiar trail to the taxi stand, hailed a cab to my father’s house and waited for two hours at the front door with my head resting on my suitcase. A neighbor walked across the road. “Are you Mr. Stewart’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Would you like to come in for tea?”
I shook my head. “Thank you but I’ll just wait here for his wife.”
Five minutes later the neighbor brought me a tray—two steaming hot scones with red jam and whipped cream and a pot of black tea with brown sugar and milk. My neck flushed red and blotchy. “So nice of you,” I said between bites of scones.
“You know, your father had a heart attack while your step mother…”
“His new wife,” I interrupted.
“Well, his new wife and he were shouting at each other. I heard her say she needed some time to settle in.”
“Oh. I guess they were referring to me.” A lump of scone stuck in my throat.
“Well dear, I wouldn’t have told you, but, I thought you should know what happened. She’s a nasty one isn’t she?”
I looked up at the old face, sallow and knotted with worry lines.
“I haven’t met her yet,” I said.
“Oh.”
“Did she say what hospital they were going to?”
“The ambulance took them. Otherwise, I’d take you if I knew.”
“Does the wife have a cell phone?”
The neighbor shook her head. “Don’t think so. They were in an awful rush. I told her to call me if she needed me. She has my number.”
A telephone rang inside the house and she rushed inside. I wondered how I could figure out where my father had gone. A few minutes later, the neighbor ambled out, dark sunglasses and a tissue in her hand. “He’s in the ICU.”
“Which hospital?” I asked.
We stared at each other for a moment, the pavement underneath me buckling and spewing with post-flight vertigo. A creeping nausea threatened to bring the scones back up. I wanted to run away but absentmindedly finished drinking the pot of tea. Caffeine surged through my veins and strengthened my resolve. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
The afternoon sun hung red and ready to sink behind puffs of gray cloud. A bicycle bell buzzed from a passing bicycle and a train sounded its whistle in the distance— a mournful, haunting sound. I felt an empty pit grow within, wider and deeper.
“What is going on?” I said with more than a hint of anger in my voice.
The neighbor hung her head and looked down at the pavement. “It’s your father dear…. he’s … well… he’s…not coming home anymore.”
“Well, of course he is,” I said. “I mean, he’s an old soldier. He just keeps on going.” I smelled rain in the air, a fresh country scent, like clothes after you hang them to dry in the sun. I took a shaky breath and tears stung my eyes.
The neighbor kicked a small rock with her shoe and told me to sit down. I took two more paces towards her instead. She reached for my hand and held on too tight. I pulled my hand away.
“He’s passed on you see,” she said with a cough. “Just now…he passed away just now….”
My face twisted and moved in strange ways. I let tears roll and swallowed down a familiar taste of bile jumping into my throat, burning and running back down like acid rain. “I could have said goodbye, if I’d known where…”
“Come, I’ll take you,” she said.
At the hospital I navigated stares and guards blocking my way, receptionists whispering into phones. “Let me see my father,” I shouted at anyone who would listen.
A security guard led me upstairs to the tenth floor where a nurse took me to the room but stood in front of the door. “You just missed his passing,” she said with downcast eyes. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in……” I pushed past her into the room where my father’s frailty lay covered to the shoulders with a blanket. He felt feverish to the touch, but there remained a bristling energy that fooled me into thinking he was still alive. “Dad?”
The new wife shook her head. “He’s gone. Too late.” Her eyes appeared dry and she backed away from the bed.
“You stupid old man,” I said to my father. “I wanted to come last month but you said the timing was wrong. Couldn’t you have waited for me?”
I placed my head on his chest and felt a sudden surge of sadness.
My father’s chest fluttered and heaved up, and then down into a long, long sigh... I jumped back and there was the old bugger’s smile, frozen to his dead face.
