Dealing

Still remains

I have been driving around town for hours now, going around and around the same streets and alleys and avenues, wishing that by passing through them, my pain would come to pass too.

But it might be too soon. To say I am jumping the gun would be an understatement.

My husband’s heart transplant failed this morning, at exactly 10.34 am. It’s only 7.49 pm. I’ve been to the petrol station five times to gas up so that I can continue my mindless meandering through the city. Robert was ready. I laughed at the thought, Ready Robert. He spoke to our two kids before the operation to tell them it could go both ways: Daddy could get well or he could go to heaven. Either way, he said, be there for Mommy.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready to have my husband be part of the 64% of heart transplants that didn’t succeed. My prayers went the opposite direction. That morning, as they were wheeling him into the operation room I prayed, “Dear God, don’t take him away. Not yet. We have so much yet to do together. The kids need him. I need him.”

I don’t know what kind of answer it was to my prayer, God taking Robert away. It is something I think I have time to figure out with my kids.

I’ve been driving around because I did not want to go back to a home that would be a different kind of home from now on. He wouldn’t be there to play with the kids in the mornings as I painted. I wouldn’t have to count pills during mealtimes to give to him. There would be no holding back my long, quick strides because he needed to catch his breath while we walked around the neighborhood.

Before his transplant, there were lots of breakfasts in bed and a lot of foreplay. He promised, after his operation, I would have an unlimited supply of lovemaking from him. I laughed when he said that. I told him, jokingly, I wanted him to bring it on now but he was still in a delicate state.

I cried, let myself cry as I closed the door behind me when I finally allowed myself to go home. My children were asleep; the nanny put them to bed. My mom broke the news to them. She was there when I arrived. She asked the housekeeper to make me lavender tea and to bring out the honey and crumpets. How well she knew me, knew that I would be hungry for a tiny meal. She knew from the heartbreaks she witnessed over the years that I find comfort in food during trying times.

We did not talk. I just let the tears fall as I poured the tea from the pot and chewed slowly on my pastry.

After that, at 10.52 I turned in. I slept beside my mom in the guest bedroom. I couldn’t sleep in the bed I shared with my husband. It was too painful. Just looking at it brought back a tide of memories I was helpless to contain.
I slept fitfully, tossing and turning and dreaming of my departed husband. In my dream we were young again and laughing as we sat by a lake. He was healthy and we spent time chasing each other. I screamed when he caught up with me. He held me fast in his arms, telling me to be still. He said, “Listen. I will always love you wherever I go. I will never be far from you.” He was serious and then he let me go and he jumped into the lake, never to emerge. I cried after him, cried and cried, but he did not come back.

I woke up drenched in sweat, with tears in my eyes and mucus in my nostrils. I could not go back to sleep.

I was groggy at breakfast and I spoke to my kids about how things would change now that Daddy won’t be coming home.

Adriel, my five-year-old son, understood the situation more than I gave him credit for.

“Mommy, Daddy left behind his body here when he went to heaven. What are we going to do with it?”

I was flummoxed. It was an unexpected question. I held back my tears. “We’ll have it cremated, darling. Cremated means you burn the body until it turns to ashes, like what we do with coals when we barbecue, okay? Then we’ll put Daddy’s ashes in an urn and have a special place built for him in the garden.”

My daughter Anna was two. All she kept saying was, “Daddy with angels. Daddy up in heaven.”

I gathered them to me one at a time and hugged them tight. I didn’t want to them to see me crying but I couldn’t help myself. Mom kept rubbing my shoulders.

I took a bath and instructed the nanny to bathe the kids. After everyone was dressed we drove to the morgue at 9.30 am. I told the kids to say their goodbyes to their Dad, to tell him everything they want to tell him and reminded them to never stop speaking to their Dad in their minds because he will never stop listening to them.

At 10.34 they took the body into the crematorium. We did not wait for the entire process to finish. We will come back for the ashes tomorrow. I chose the urn and asked them for the number of a contractor who could build a mini mausoleum in our yard.

I said goodbye to my husband then, as we were driving away from the memorial park. A weight lifted from my being. I felt light, it was like my husband telling me to go on, I never really lost him, that he will always be with me in every little thing that makes me who I am because there was a time when we were one and we walked this earth in unison.