The Last Exile

Last night my husband washed the floor while I chopped vegetables for dinner while we played catch-up with each other. It was such an ordinary event it could have been taken from any of the days of our lives, but every time he comes, I wake up crying. In life, Glenton was the only man who I loved who never gave me any cause to cry, but since he died, I do nothing but cry when he comes to visit. His visiting my dreams has become our way of keeping up.

The night Isaiah Sender was born I had a dream. We were together in another life. In my dream, neither of us resembled our physical selves of 1994 but I recognized the man I loved no matter what flesh or disguise he wore. Love is funny that way and finds its’ own level. In my dream, he laid across my lap and died in my arms. I saw his spirit rise up and I argued and plead with him to stay and abide with me. He didn’t but he promised we would be together in another life. We would meet again, and this time, we would have children and he would build me a house.

I woke up crying then too. He kept his promise but I cannot bare to live in the house Glen built. If I had my way, I would burn it down to the ground, but there are the children to consider. One day they may want to live in that house that Glen built. He built it for them as much as for me. I have no right and so it is rented out until such time when one of them want to claim it.

Even now its hard for me to accept he is gone. Oh, I know he is, and I accept that but I just don’t understand the why of it. Of course, I understand the medical reason. It was all explained very well and patiently to me. The human body cannot withstand fevers exceeding 105 degrees for very long, and if the fever goes on too long, the body starts shutting down. In his case, his fever brought on cardiac arrest and he died at 35.

I will never forget the day I got the telephone call telling me he had died. The children and I had just sat down to dinner when the phone rang in the kitchen. I thought about ignoring it seeing the call display read ‘Long Distance’. I figured it was Glen asking me to send money. He was taking care of his grandfather in Jamaica. His father would have done it, but Glen’s father died when he was six, so he was standing in his father’s place. I actually resented the fact he felt compelled to take care of his grandfather as it left me holding the home front on my own. It is not that I wasn’t capable but I didn’t get into this situation on my own and saw no reason why I should have to carry on on my own. After we got married, I always threatened him that if he left me he had to take the children. Later, I felt guilty about my resentment.

I didn’t ignore it but I wished I had. I had three sets of eyes watching me as I heard the words which would render the fabric of our lives so completely that when it was over – not one of us would ever be the same again. I was shocked by what I was told but I couldn’t really take in what it would really mean to us in the day to day. I was guarded and neutral in my speech as I was cognizant of the children watching me intensely. I hung the phone saying I would call back later. Then I sat down with the children and ate dinner.

I sat at the head of the table and realized this would be my place forever. As the children chatted on while wave after wave of realization hit me. Once I uttered those same words, our life as we knew it would be lost. I wanted to run, and run so long and hard, that grief and rage would be forever kept at bay and never find me. Instead, I schooled my growing panic and used my ordinary voice and asked them to pass the salt. I think I dumped the whole bottle on my plate and ate it. It didn’t matter what I ate but I wanted it as bitter as possible to prepare me for what I had to do next. It was probably the hardest thing I have ever done. I sat at the table and listened to the children bicker one minute and tell a joke the next.

I took my measure of each of them and considered how best to tell them. Right then, I decided I wouldn’t do it in a group but take each of them aside even if it was harder for me to re-live the telling three times rather than once. I was their mother and it was my job to teach them how to live and be resolute and not run from the rough.

It was Kiki Zipporah I told last and not because she was the oldest but because she was my only daughter and one day she would be a woman, and possibly a wife and a mother. She needed to know how to face her fears and dread. I sent Kiki Zipporah and Isaiah Sender to their beds and then I told Montana first. After I finished he asked me what do we do next? I told him, we live. Then he put his arms around me and whispered into my ear how sorry he was and he held on to me tightly. My mother and I have joked that Montana was born a man. It was a good thing too for what came next. After a time, Montana told me to go tell the others and he would go wait in his room.

Isaiah Sender was next on my list. When I call ed him to come into the living room he came with the joy – for being allowed a few more minutes before bedtime. I cannot begin to describe how terrible was the rage which came over him. Dead meant nothing to him as he was too young but he got the Daddy won’t ever be coming home again. He started running around the house grabbing the pictures off the wall and smashing them. I tried to catch and hold him but he fought the embrace of my arms. It wasn’t until Montana came and put his arms around him that Isaiah Sender could settle down to cry on his older brother’s shoulder. Montana took Isaiah back to their bed. Isaiah Sender would remain angry for years, so angry in fact, that it wasn’t until the last year he could look at a picture of his father. And even now, he remains angry whenever the subject of his father comes up. Always suggesting his father had a choice about the time and manner of his death. It’s irrational and he knows it, but in a strange way the thought also comforts him. I expect this has more than anything else as to why he wants to become a doctor.

Kiki Zipporah met me at the door to her room and there was a well of sadness pooled into those big brown eyes which has never entirely left her face. I asked her if she knew. She nodded her head and said, ‘You and daddy are getting a divorce’. I said yes and no. Then I sat her in my lap and told her all that I knew. She cried, and then we laid down together until I thought she had fallen asleep listening to all I ever knew about death and dying. I left her bed and went into the bathroom, I reached for the scissors and cut off my hair and when I was done I covered the mirror. Then the bathroom door opened and Kiki Zipporah stood watching me as I tore my shirt. She asked me why I was doing this and I simply answered this is what I do in grief. She picked up the scissors and made to cut off her hair but I stopped her. I took the scissors and cut a tiny snippet and told her it would hurt me too much to look at her without her long dark locks. I let her tear her nightie and once again laid down with her. Eventually, she fell a sleep and I left her to check on the boys.

I opened the door and saw them curled up with each other on the bottom bunk of their beds. I spent a long time watching them sleep. I took to counting their chests rise and fall in unison and I remember wondering if this night would ever end. I couldn’t sleep so I laid on the floor by their bed, replaying every memory over and over again in my mind. It would be two days before I could sleep again. The days followed the nights. I did what I had to do but mostly what I tried to do was teach my children that life goes on and it is okay to laugh and be happy even though I am still working on it.