Stan was able to secure a few days’ emergency leave from work and took a flight to New Jersey on the same day that he got the call. I found that it wasn’t as difficult this time to set my own hang-ups aside and give Stan the support he needed. After all, I hadn’t ever lost a parent. And I saw a peculiar hope — or maybe it was a sort of manic desperation — in Stan’s eyes as he mentioned that this was the time for he and his father to reconcile.
I couldn’t think that my own life was more important than that. My sense of loyalty and honor was aroused at the idea of father and son exchanging tender words before death came with his coach and four.
I bid my husband a solemn farewell as he opened the door and stepped briskly out. As I heard his footsteps pounding noisily down the concrete stairs, I wondered what it must be like for Stan. Juan and Marcie were divorced just after Stan was born. Stan told me that Juan never offered help to Marcie and his mother made her own way. Stan didn’t even really get to know his father until he was a teenager, and when he did, he found himself disgusted at his father’s infidelity.
What must Stan be thinking now? After 8 years, father and son would meet again. What risks does death prompt us to take? What things do we finally say when it hits home that there are no more chances to waste?
What would I say if I were in Stan’s position? I’ll admit that I was relieved to not have to answer that question.
Stan called a few hours later, telling me that he’d arrived and that the whole family was overjoyed to see him.
“They keep telling me I look just like my father,” Stan said, sounding unsure of how to respond to that. “I think that everyone is sort of talking to me as if I were him because I look so much like him. ‘You’re a spitting image of Juan!’ they keep saying. And no one knows that Juan had an affair, so I’m going to keep it that way. It’s the least I can do.” Stan sounded suddenly chivalrous.
I nodded, feeling compassion rise for Stan’s stepmother and her children. Stan had given me a brief rundown on the phone about his half-siblings. Juan Jr. was 18, Jennie was 20, Lacinda was 23. Too young to lose a father. Stan told me that Juan Jr was pretty reclusive and only talked in movie phrases when he wanted to say something. Jennie seemed to be keeping it together for her mom and little brother, and Laci was out of the house by now, but it seemed that all were relieved to have Stan there.
Oh boy, I thought with a pang of fresh empathy. Pressure’s on, honey. They won’t be able to do anything else but treat you like you’re Juan. I hope you can handle it. I sighed and sent a prayer out to Stan, cursing myself for being so selfish during the past few weeks. Pregnancy complications were nothing to losing a parent.
The next day I got another call from Stan, this time about his father’s condition. “He’s got cancer of the neck and it’s gone into his brain,” Stan said in a tired voice. “I’ve been at the hospital since I got here. Dad seems to be doing well, and he got real excited when I walked in his room.”
I could feel Stan’s enthusiasm though his voice didn’t change. I hoped that he and Juan had been able to reconcile.
“He isn’t really able to talk very much since the cancer is in his neck,” Stan continued, “but he really talked a lot today. I hope he continues like this. We have so much to talk about.”
As Stan went on, I had an idea suddenly. It wasn’t really announced to everyone since it was only a few days’ prior to the news about Juan that we had the ultrasound done, but I was far enough along to have one that could determine a gender. I swallowed, thinking that it was either a really good idea or a really bad idea to be part of Stan’s reunion.
“Um… have you told your dad what we’re having?” I asked hesitantly.”No, not yet,” came the reply. “I told him that you were pregnant but we’ve been talking about other things, too. Did you want me to tell him?”
I swallowed again. “Um… can I tell him? Or would that be too weird? And Krystal’s still up. Does he want to hear from her?”
A pause.
“I think that would be okay,” Stan said after a minute. I didn’t know what it was so important for me to talk to Juan before he passed. Maybe I just wanted to tell him how much I appreciated his son, even though I was a serious pain in the ass sometimes (I’d leave that last part out). And, I guess I wanted to be part of something special to my husband. I sort of felt alone with him over there with his father and his family and everything going on all around him and me just home taking care of Krystal and trying not to breathe when the pain hit.
“Here,” Stan said a moment later. “Okay, Violet, tell Dad what we’re having.”
I paused to give Stan time to hand the phone to Juan.
“Hi,” I said shyly, wondering what the hell I was doing getting into Stan’s personal business. Who the hell was I to impose like this? But something drove me to make a connection and I felt compelled beyond common sense to participate.
“Um… you have a granddaughter,” I began. “And a grandson on the way.” I paused again and felt my mouth go dry. This man was a stranger. Dying. Stan’s department. I had no business — “I love your son,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “Thank you for having him.” God that sounded lame. I was beginning to tear up now, feeling stupid and wondering whether the silence on the other end meant that Juan was tongue-tied by my audacity.
“Here’s Krystal,” I said to the phone. Then to Krystal, “This is Daddy’s daddy. Can you say ‘hi?’”
“Hi,” came Krystal’s high-pitched voice. She was as serene-looking as ever, neither smiling nor frowning — just curious. I had to admire her sense of detachment; Krystal never seemed rattled by anything.
“Okay, that’s good,” Stan told me after a moment.
“Did he seem happy to hear the news?” I asked, still wondering if I should have said anything and hoping that putting Krystal on the phone was the right thing to do.
“Yeah, he seemed happy, I think,” Stan answered. “He looks like he’s sort of done talking for now, though. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later. Night, honey.”
“Night,” I said softly. I hung up the phone and sat down on the couch. It was probably nothing. I mean, yes I thought it was important to thank Juan for Stan, and yes I wanted to at least pay my respects, but should I have? I wasn’t invited to this party. Did I just try to crash it? And why was it so important for me to talk to a dying man I’d never see?
I turned to Krystal who was watching me. “Time for bed, kiddo,” I said.
Sleep eluded me that night. I felt torn between a shame and empathy. I wanted to be a part of Stan’s life, of what was important to him. But I couldn’t get past the pause on the phone when I asked Stan if I could talk to Juan. Did he disapprove? How much of my husband’s life did I actually share? Were there parts of it that were private? And what if my intentions were viewed as nosy instead of supportive? Wasn’t it right to give Juan a chance to hear his granddaughter before he passed?
Stan called again the next afternoon, sounding like he hadn’t slept in two days. “Dad’s getting worse,” he said. “He kept trying to tell me something but I couldn’t understand him because he can’t really talk. I kept asking him if he was trying to say this or that, but he got really mad and finally I asked him if he wanted me to leave and he nodded yes.” I heard Stan sigh heavily. “I don’t know what he wanted to tell me, but it was obviously really important. I’ve never seen him so worked up.” A long pause. “I don’t think he’ll be here for much longer. I’ve been the only one that stays overnight at the hospital. I mean I know that everyone is upset and all, but I feel like I’m the only one here.”
“The family is grieving,” I replied gently. “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can. Besides, this is the end. He’s been in the hospital for a long time, right?”
“A few months,” Stan agreed. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just exhausted and need some more coffee. Maybe I’ll go home early tonight.”
45 minutes later, Stan called again, extremely upset. “Dad died 20 minutes after I left the hospital,” he said in a shaking voice. “Why didn’t I stay longer? Why?! I should have stayed!” He was quiet for a minute and I could hear him sniffing. I wished I could be there to hold him. “I should have stayed,” he said again.
“There was no way you could know,” I said to him quietly. Then, “I’m sorry, Stan.”
“Well, at least we had that one good day,” Stan said, sniffing again. “I have to go. I just wanted to tell you that I missed it, I guess. And that it’s over. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Stan,” I said softly and hung up the phone.
Now the real grieving starts, I thought with a sense of foreboding. Please, Father, be kind to Stan. And let me forget myself enough to support him.
Even as I said my prayer, I felt a flash of indignation rise through me. I felt so separated from Stan and unable to really help him. Not to mention, not one of his family members had asked about me. Not according to Stan’s accounts, at least.
I swallowed my feelings and reached for a loaf of bread. I would behave like a proper wife and support my husband. Because that’s what marriage means.
I didn’t taste the bread as I ate.
