So...
If you read this Monday's post, you would know that I was having a rather quiet and uneventful weekend...
... That is, until I got a phone call around 4:30 pm Sunday afternoon.
Now, I like my weekends to be quiet. Lots of rest and relaxation and decompression from the workweek. I also take time to run errands, but I do too much because I wear out easily. This weekend was also a lawn work weekend. Every weekend has to be a lawn work weekend for the next 6 weeks because it literally rains everyday, so the grass has to be cut weekly (I don't like that AT ALL).
Anyway, I happened to be at home laying down and watching television at the time of this unexpected phone call. I was experiencing a little dizziness or vertigo for some reason, and I'd decided that I just needed to be still instead of cleaning up. I could clean up later.
So my house phone rang. This is a rare occurrence, as I mostly talk on the cell phone. And I'm not like a lot of folk, where my cell phone is attached to my hand. I am not a phone person.
So I had to find the land line phone. It was in my bed.
I saw the caller ID. It said Edith Parker.
Hmm... This was my aunt's number. It was my father's sister number.
A thousand things went through my mind, the most glaring one. "Did my father die? Is Milton dead?"
I answered the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hey Lisa, this is Carla. I'm Edith's daughter. How are you doing today?"
"Uh, I'm fine," I said. I was still wondering what this call was about.
"Listen," she said. "Milton is not doing well right now. He hasn't eaten in 4 days and he can't walk. We trying to get him to go to the hospital, but he's fighting us on it. We thought maybe you could come over and talk to him, and get him to go."
*crickets*
I said, "Uhhhh.... OK" after a few seconds.
But I was screaming "What?????? Me?????" on the inside. And it was in my high pictched inside voice.
"Give me an hour," I said. I needed to get dressed. I'd changed from earlier, from when I got home. I had my cleaning-up-my-house house dress on.
"That's fine," she said and we talked about the best route to get there. I know the street, but it is in the middle of a big neighborhood and it is easy to get lost up in there.
Now, I thought about all of this while getting dressed. If you've been reading over the years, you will know that I don't have good relationships with my parents. I just fail miserably at all that. My mother is full speed drama and I don't do drama. My father is another deal altogether. He wasn't in my life much as a child, and I guess I made my peace with that. I'm not the angry type when it comes to that. "Crazy Convos with my Father" and "Face-to-face with my Father".
But that was 4 years ago in 2009. I told him back then to call me if he wanted to see me. He never called. Well, he called me when his brother died to tell me about the funeral. I attended the funeral. I sat in the back row and I talked with him briefly and expressed my condolences. I wrote about that in the post "A Most Humble Occasion" (part 1 and part 2).
But besides that, there has been no communication. And like I said, I am fine with that. And don't get all sanctimonious on me. "You should call him, LadyLee". No. I don't have to call him. He hasn't been a big part of my life. Not even a little part. I'm 43 years old. I don't know much about him or have a relationship with him. And like I told him, I don't want to interrupt his life. I don't want to be a reminder of the past.
But with that all said, I got dressed and jumped in my car and drove on over to his house.
Like I said, I only live 10 minutes from him. I drive past his neighborhood from time to time, and I shop at the White people's Kroger near his house. And my sister frequents a cantina in his neighborhood, only a couple of blocks from his house. I have dinner with her sometimes at the place. So I am in the vicinity
As I thought, I got lost in his neighborhood. 10 minutes turned into 30 minutes as I drove the many streets of his neighborhood, but I got there.
I knocked on the door and Carla answered. We made small talk and she led me to his bedroom. He was sitting there on the bed, a little bent over, holding a blue plastic cup in his hand. He is a thin man, thin as a string bean, and it looked as if it took much for him to even sit up.
"Hey there, 'Lesia," he said, trying not to smile.
"Hey," I said. I sat down in a plastic chair next to his bed.
Carla laughed. "When I told him you were coming over, he actually got up and got his walker and walked down the hall to the bathroom to get himself together. He said he couldn't walk. He got up and hustle down that hall. He hasn't even been sitting up, but he's sitting up now."
That was funny to us. And I didn't think the anticipation of my appearance anywhere would cause such a stir.
"He's drinking some water, at least," Carla said. Then she peered at his cup curiously. "Wait, that ain't water in that cup."
"Girl, you know this ain't water," my father said. He chuckled.
No it wasn't. It was some type of adult beverage. Clear liquor I suppose.
"He been in here smoking," Carla said. "He put that cigarette out when he found out you were coming over. Haven't smoked anything since."
I was glad. I don't like smoke. I didn't even smell cigarettes when I came over.
Carla left the room after a little more small talk..
I asked him why he didn't want to go to the hospital.
"'Cuz I don't wanna go?" he said in a high pitched voice.
Uh. Ok.
And we talked about my time in the hospital some 11 years ago due to lupus complications. I myself didn't want to go, but I did. I told him I didn't like hospitals either. And I learned that he has never had a hospital stay. That was the biggest reason he didn't want to go.
"'Lesia, if I croak, I wanna croak right here in this bed."
"I understand," I said. I didn't know what else to say.
They'd called the paramedics earlier in the day to take his vital sounds. All his vitals were fine, but he was PISSED about it. And even though he's very weak, he tried to fight the paramedics.
"They came up in here, and that man stuck me in my fanger!" He jutted his long thin index finger towards me. It was wrapped in a band aid.
"Well, they just wanted to make sure you were alright, that's all," I said.
This type of talk went on for awhile. I could not convince him to go to the hospital. He got a little to hostile about it all, so I changed the subject.
We talked about what he'd been doing that day (he was watching cowboy movies). I never knew his birthday, and he told me. He even remembered my birthday. I asked what his favorite foods were, and the next time I came over, I could bring him something. He likes chocolate ice cream. That's easy enough for me to buy. I told him I eat a lot of fruit, and I could bring him some fruit.
"Girl, what you say?"
"Fruit. I could bring you some fruit. Something soft like some bananas or something."
"Girl, I thought you said prunes."
I frowned. "Oh noooo. Fruit. Not prunes."
"I was 'bout to say," he said. "You have me trying to run from this bathroom. Don't do that!"
That was funny. I laughed a little too loudly. These folks are quiet as hell, and I made sure to quiet back down.
We talked a little while longer, especially about how he could call if he wanted to see me. I leave that in his hands.
"I always want to see you, 'Lesia," he said.
"Well," I countered, "Those times when I was calling to arrange a meeting with you, you kept saying 'today is not a good day. I'm having a bad day'. So that's why I don't bother you. I left it up to you."
He pondered this for a moment. "Any day I see you is a good day, 'Lesia."
Now I didn't know how to take that. I just remained silent.
We talked a little longer. I finally asked "Do you want me to sit here and watch television with you? Or do you want me to leave?"
"You can leave now," he said. "It was good to see you."
"Good to see you too," I said. I stuck my hand out. "Shake my hand."
He shook my hand.
"You strong enough to give me a hug?" I asked.
He sat up straight on the bed. "Yes, I think so."
And I hugged him. I never really imagined shaking the man's hand, much less hugging him.
I said good-bye. I walked through the house looking for Aunt Ethel and Carla.
This took a moment. No one was in the living room or den of the small house. I remember hearing very low voices coming from somewhere in the house. And I was thinking "Dang, these folks quiet as hell!"
I found Aunt Ethel and Carla in a back bedroom talking quietly, and going through mail.
"Listen," I said to them after talking to them for a moment. "I don't come around because I don't want to interrupt Milton's life. I told him to call when he wants to see me. He hasn't. So what I will do is call you, Aunt Ethel, and I will ask if I can come over. I am only 10 minutes away, and I can just say hey to him or something, and come in here and talk to you."
We agreed it was a plan.
Carla had been looking for a picture of us together, and she found it. It was dated 1971, and she was standing in the living room holding me. I couldn't have been more than 1 years old. She was sharp, dressed in a red suit. And she had a HUGE afro.
A male cousin from down the street came over. "Milton said he had a daughter," he said after meeting me.
They talked about how Milton had gotten up and walked around and got himself together.
"We thought he couldn't walk," Willie said.
"He got up and got hisself together when he knew she was coming over."
Willie was miffed by that. He'd been coming over and carrying my father back and forth to the bathroom and changing his clothes and washing him up.
I never thought the anticipation of my appearance would cause such a stir.
"Milton's mind is good, but he is onery and he is weak," Willie assessed.
"Yes, he is lucid," I agreed. "He was able to tell me his birthday, and tell me mine, and to just talk about things."
And that's a good thing.
I thought much about this unexpected phone call and visitation. It reminded me of a old sermon that I think of often, one detailing how we are so worried about the tomorrow and the future, when in reality, we can't even see 5 minutes in front of our faces. This means, we don't even know what will happen 5 minutes from now.
No we cannot.
And I didn't know that I would have a chance to sit and talk and laugh with my father on a warm sunny afternoon.
I will go by and see him again. Even though he was sitting up and was lucid, he's not looking too well. I'm not sure he has much time left to live. And he won't go to the hospital. "If I croak, I'ma croak in this bed."
And by the look in his eye, he meant that. Really.
That was the "whoa" moment of my weekend. It has been the "whoa" moment of my year, thus far.
And a most welcome whoa moment indeed.
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