Fuggeddaboudit

by Gil VanWagner

diets. Gardening. Things that made us all better in their way. Things that brought us together more. Things that worked better than all the medicines and treatments. It was a realization as well as an acceptance.

  Fuggeddaboudit was more than my father’s battle. It was mine and everyone's that loved him. That is how we fought it. That is how we won for as long as we did. My father lost his battle and found his peace. The war continues.

  A Cup Of Coffee

  I moved on. Buried him. Missed him. Moved on from Fuggeddaboudit. Life took on its own flow. The kids grew. My husband was sweeter and kinder to me. I was sweeter and kinder to him. We eased ever so gently from the full immersion of Dad’s last years on this planet. The shell-shocked losers of the war left the trenches a bit at a time.

  Some long overdue dinner engagements with friends. An outing to the City for dinner and a show. Even a bittersweet three-day trip to Cooperstown. Bittersweet since Yankees were everywhere so Dad were very present for me. Yankees were a Dad and me thing. I wished he could have taken that trip instead of the one he took.

  All those things helped. They were part of the healing. I was a bit more me each time. Yet they were not enough. I was numb and less than alive. Knew it. Felt it. Smiled pretty through it. I just knew there was supposed to be more. Had to be more. Something that said the experience was over but that it mattered. Any of it mattered. All of it mattered. Everything that happened mattered. It had to matter. Dad died and that had to matter. It was too hard and too tragic. It had to matter. Dad was gone and what he went through was wrong. For anyone. Especially my father. Especially me. Especially my family. Everyone deserved better. Anyone deserved better. I was bitter and sad and the emotions festered in me like dead fish. My heart stunk and there wasn’t anyplace to dump the trash.

  Alzheimer’s was still there. It was the elephant in the living room we all saw and no one spoke about. Because of me. I shut down the conversations. Especially the well-intended ones littered with platitudes from those that didn’t live the hell. Soon, folks were afraid to bring it up and that was perfectly alright with me. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to forget about it. Ironic, ain’t it?

  Then the phone rang. A person I didn’t even know called and actually asked me to talk about it. Her name was Nancy and her Dad, in her words, was getting much worse. Could we meet for a cup of coffee? She just needed to talk to me. She just needed to talk to someone that understood.

  I want to say I immediately felt the compassion. Truth be told, I was pissed. The thoughts that ran through my mind in a nanosecond were anything but compassionate. They were ugly. Full. Bold. Ugly. Who the hell gave her my name? Who the hell let her think I wanted anything more to do with Alzheimer’s? Who the heck let her invade my world? When would this goddamned disease just go away and leave me alone? I shit canned the pills, the diapers, the books, and any and all evidence right after Dad was buried. It was gone. Banished. It didn’t exist anymore. GO AWAY!

  All that. In my sweet little mind of love and comfort. All that. A flash flood of NO! My words came forth to this Nancy person.

  “Sure. Do you know where Perkins is?”

  Reflections

  Coffee took hours that day. Our waitress, Kathy, didn’t rush us. She didn’t crowd us. When we were done, she didn’t charge us. She kept our cups full and left us alone. She knew. I love when people know.

  Nancy spewed. She sobbed, dabbed her eyes, got her composure, shared, and sobbed in a cycle of the dam is bursting and I can’t stop it. I knew that feeling.

  I remember what I didn’t have that day. No magic pill. No promises. No platitudes. No real advice. She didn’t need that. She didn’t need anything from my mouth. She needed my ears. Well, that and my eyes every time my eyes said my ears heard her. She needed to be on the care-needing end.

  Odd that I felt like I did very little but knew that is was actually quite a lot. For those few hours, Nancy had company. Kindred, in Jason speak.

  I left a tip, smiled at Kathy, loved her return smile, and walked Nancy to her car. We hugged. She had my number and now I had hers. She thanked me and drove home to the battleground.

  On my way home, I stopped by the beach. Took a walk. Thought a lot. What happened next kinda snuck on me. Two blocks and ten minutes later, I felt the smile on my face. Dad and I just helped Nancy and Chuck, her Dad. Dad and I knew what to say and not to say and were right where we needed to be over a cup of coffee.

  I helped someone. Really helped them. That helped me. Enough to know I needed to help others. Surely there were others out there that needed my ear. From their mouth to my ear to my heart and back to their heart. I needed them to know I was here. Where they were and that there is life after dying. I needed to let them know it would be alright. It would be alright. It really would be alright. I was living proof. That was the moment I knew it would be alright.

  Author’s Note

  Mallory is real. She is out there. She is making a difference everyday. She came to me as a voice and told her story. She is quite insistent and left me little option but to write it.

  I like that her details are a bit fuzzy around the edges. She paints in broad strokes and communicates intimacies in ways that are very human…very real.

  It was my hope that she would tell me the rest of the story so it could be told here. Yet it is told. You know what she did. She banded together with others. They became friends and family. Mallory and her family, Nancy and her family, and many others and their families survived the loss of their loved ones and emerged with resolve. Realistic resolve.

  Diet. Alternative healing. Energy work. Spirituality. Love. Cosmic changes rather than cosmetic medicines and pills. They are living hope and, quite frankly, they are pissed at the state of affairs.

  We are the solution. Sharing. Caring. Praying. Hoping. I am here if you need to vent, share, or just reach out. Together, we heal. We are stronger than Fuggeddaboudit, Cancer, and all illness.

  There was one piece pushed to me by Mallory’s Dad. She did not know he did that. I kept it from her because it was so sad I didn’t think she was ready for it. Maybe now she is. Here are his words. From the inside of Fuggeddaboudit.

  Victim’s Lament

  Trapped inside this skin, trying to get out.

  Trapped inside this skin, can’t you hear me shout?

  I’m trying, I’m trying, I’m trying.

  I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying.

  Who’s that person there? Why do they still care?

  Is it really Sunday? Please help me comb my hair.

  Mommy must be shopping, where’d I put my pants?

  Please just go away. I want to but I can’t.

  No longer. No longer. How much must I take?

  No longer. No longer. How much can I take?

  Trapped inside this skin, trying to get out.

  Trapped inside this skin, can’t you hear me shout?

  I’m trying. I’m trying. I’m trying.

  I’m dying. I’m dying. I’m dying.

  Will it be a good day? Will I just be me?

  Will things be familiar? Will I want to scream?

  Sorry for the bother. Sorry for the shame.

  Wish it was all over. Wish things were the same.

  You grew up very pretty. Please just hold my hand.

  Thanks for hanging in there. Thank you my dear friend.

  The show is almost over. Please just get some rest.

  The show is almost over. I did my very best.

  Trapped inside this skin, trying to get out.

  Trapped inside this skin, quieting the shouts.

  Done trying. Done trying. Done trying.

  Good byyyyyyyying. Good byyyyyying, Good byyyyyyyyyyyy

 
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