But before we mastered that routine, these moments of being
lost were filled with sheer panic. On one particularly traumatic occasion at
Waldbaum’s (yes, it took a special kind of child to get “lost” at the Baldwin
Harbor Waldbaum’s ), my mother found me practically dissolved in tears—I was
sure she had left the store and gone home. “I will never leave you,” she
assured me. Those words stayed with me and kept me reasonably calm through all the
“missing child” moments that followed. Even when I felt thoroughly lost, I knew
she would keep her promise.
Many years later, I heard her make the same promise to my
father. After successfully battling cancer for more than a year, the disease
began to fight back in the summer of 2002, and his treatment was demanding that
he spend more time in the hospital. He hated it—the uncomfortable beds, the
constant visits from nurses and aides throughout the night and early morning,
and the occasional crazy roommate who would disturb what little rest he was
able to get. Probably worse than any of those complaints was the simple fact
that he just wanted to be at home—with his comfortable recliner, his familiar books,
his beloved kitchen, and all the other familiar items that defined “home” for
him.
As his health declined, he fought harder to be able to
remain at home, even as his doctors recommended that he stay in their care for
treatment. As I recall, my family
and I were anxious that he comply with their advice, believing that inpatient
treatment and, in particular, intravenous feeding, would give him more strength
for his battle. One evening, trying to compel him to return to the hospital for
the treatment, my mom sat at his feet and tearfully begged him. “I’ll be with
you, I will stay by your side, I will never leave you,” she said.
Though he did pursue further treatment, in the end it was in
vain, and he and my mom chose to cease treatment and rely on the hospice angels
to allow him to live out his last days in the comfort of their home. With all
of us gathered around him, among the last words he uttered was a familiar
promise: “I will never leave you.”
We lost him 10 years ago, on September 22, 2002. So much has
changed for all of us in those 10 years. For my part, I met my husband, married
him, and had a son. I think often of my dad’s promise not to leave us. It’s a
challenge for me that this person who was such a constant and formative force
in my life is not actively with me every day, and that my husband and son never
knew him. I talk about him constantly, and I hope that through these stories
and memories my husband and son will come to know him. Most importantly, I hope that I will feel his presence more vividly if I keep those memories alive. Ten years after his
death, it is up to me to help my dad keep his promise.
