Don’t Sell the House
Four months ago I fell and hit my head. At this moment, my son and his wife are chauffeuring me to a new place of residence where my daughter, her husband and the grandkids are waiting.
And every now and then, from the far recesses of my mind, their voices come back.
“Sshh! Keep your voice down. He might hear you.”
“For crissakes, Tom, he can’t hear me. He’s in a coma!”
“Fine. Then what do you think we should do, Susan?”
“Listen. First of all, he’s eighty-three years old. Second, the doctors can’t tell us if there’s been any permanent brain damage. Third, his nasty little dog peed on my new
Persian rug last night and fourth, that female companion of his, Marie, keeps calling and is getting on my nerves. We need to make some decisions this time.”
I can visualize my daughter’s fist burst open one finger at a time as she counts off these burdens for her brother with the other manicured index finger. I haven’t spoken a single word to either of them since being discharged from that rehab center a few hours ago. I crack open my window because the smell of this new leather is getting to me. My son asks, “Hot back there, Dad?” Tom can’t hold my gaze when our eyes meet in the rearview mirror and returns his attention to the road. I am so angry with both my grown children that I may as well have stayed in that coma.
“Tom! I didn’t know you were coming here tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I just wanted to see how the old man was doing, if there’d been any improvement before we . . . you know.”
“There’s been no change.”
“Oh, I see. Well, did you have them drawn up then?”
“Right here.”
“What about his things? All of his stuff?”
“Well, first, we can’t touch the entire estate just yet, but in the meantime, Uncle Charlie is going to sell the car and is happy to have his new wardrobe. Second, Aunt Lorraine has divvied up the furniture between the relatives . . .”
“Oh, by the way . . .
“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget to tell her that the big screen TV is yours. And third, I’ve picked out a few momentos for myself but the rest of Dad’s knick-knacks are going to Goodwill. You and I can rummage through whatever’s leftover this weekend before the house goes on the market Monday.”
“It’s sad, isn’t it, Susan?”
“Oh yeah, and fourth, I told his female companion if she calls me one more time I’ll have a restraining order slapped on her so fast she won’t know what happened.”
“Do you really think that was necessary? I mean Marie’s been around a long time, she’s always been there for Dad, she’s practically part of the family. Are we doing the right thing, Susan?”
“Tom, Dad may not wake up! We can’t wait forever.”
“What about Toby?”
“That miserable mutt? I dropped him off at the pound this morning. Oh look,
Dad’s eyes are watering. Call the nurse, Tom, while I make sure all of these documents are in order.”
“Here we are, Dad,” Tom says holding the car door open for me. I don’t move. His wife has already disappeared into the old two-story brick building with the words “Bay View Retirement Home” etched in stone above the massive entryway.
Inside Room 116, the entire family fits like a can of sardines into my new home. This place smells like old mashed potatoes and overcooked broccoli. I smile at the grandkids while the adults avoid eye contact with me. For the twentieth time, Susan and Tom defend themselves for disposing of all my belongings, including Marie my “female companion” as they called her and my faithful dog Toby. Years after their mother died I would have married Marie but in order to keep peace in the family I gave in and let them have their way. Susan whines, “We’re just glad you came out of the coma, Dad.” Tom joins her, “What else were we supposed to do, Dad?” I glare at these vultures circling around me and could strangle them for what they’ve done. I shuffle to the window with the assistance of my cane, then grin.
Dashing past the family, I’m out the door before the kids can stop my escape. “Dad! Come back. Where are you going?” My daughter-in-law yells something about “brain damage” to the uniforms behind the front desk. Once outside, I ditch the cane, skip toward the old Buick and hop in the open passenger side door. With Toby on my lap and Marie at the wheel, using one of Susan’s counting fingers I gesture a fond farewell.