Four years ago today...
Vanessa and I watched the heart monitor. The line went flat and suddenly started up again. Her pulse went from zero to sixty, faltered and went flat again. The nurse entered the room. “She’s gone. I saw her heart rate spike near the end. I think she heard you talking to her and wanted to say goodbye.” We left the room. I was in shock, as I walked ahead of Vanessa. The machines, the nurses, and the doctors were fuzzy images floating around me. I reached the nurses station and realized Vanessa wasn’t beside me. In a haze, I’d left her behind. Behind me, I saw Vanessa being held by one of the nurses, who taken care of Georgia until the end. The Nurse stroked her back. “Vanessa, it’s OK. Here’s your dad.” She handed Vanessa to me. Vanessa and I held each other and cried. Vanessa and I sat on the sofa. We were stunned. “Now what, Dad?” she asked. I had no answer.
Memories surrounded us. The sofa where Georgia spent her remaining days still had the extra cushions I’d used to make it higher, so I could get her to her feet. A shelf on the TV stand held our wedding picture and a snow globe with all the major buildings in New York City. If you wound it up, it played the classic “New York, New York.” Justin came home from school. He’d refused to join us at Georgia’s side. He wanted to go to school. He didn’t want to be there.
“Well? He asked?
I looked at him. My red eyes were his answer. “Mom’s gone.”
He went to his room without a word.
Vanessa found comfort with her computer. I left her alone and went to our bedroom—my bedroom now. I opened the closet. Georgia’s clothes hung in a long row. She never had the chance to use them since moving to New Jersey. She spent her last month in hospital or night gowns. “What am I going to do with these?” I asked myself.
In the afternoon, I called Frank Patti. “Frank, this is Mike Smith. I spoke to you last week about my wife. Frank, I need to talk to you. Georgia passed away this morning. I need your help. When can I see you?”
“Mike, I remember our talk. I didn’t know it was going to be so soon. I give you my condolences. You can come now if you like.”
An hour later, I sat in Frank’s office. “Mike, I’m sorry. I know this is hard for you. We have many options. Do you need a lot?”
“No, she wanted to be cremated...”
“We’ll take care of that for you. What about a service?”
“Frank, neither of us has family here. My family is back in Nova Scotia—that’s in Canada.”
He nodded.
“Frank, I don’t know. I want her to have a service, but she didn’t now anyone here. The only people I know here are my work friends. I guess a few will come.”
“We have a small chapel here…unless you want to use a church.”
“We don’t have a church here yet. I think your chapel will be fine. I figure twenty to thirty people will show up.”
“You’ll need an urn,” he said.
He helped me pick one.
“Mike, when do you want to hold the service?”
“I don’t know.” I was still in shock.
“She’ll be cremated.” he said. “There’s no rush. You can hold it whenever you feel comfortable.”
“I think it needs to be on the weekend. The only people I know are work friends. How about next weekend? That way, they can be here. I don’t expect many, but it’s the best time for them to come. Otherwise, no one will be there.”
“I understand,” he said. “Let’s make it at two in the afternoon on Saturday.”
