Never Better: Two Kids, Their Dad, and his Wife’s Ghost by Gonzalo Riedel

Author:Gonzalo Riedel [Riedel, Gonzalo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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CHARLIE AND ELLIOT had gone with friends for the night. Their grandpa brought them earlier that morning. We didn’t know how long Erica would be in hospice for, and the plan was to arrange their care day by day. Turns out we didn’t need to plan for long.

After speaking on the phone, I drove out to see the boys. Charlie squawked in my arms. He was too young to understand what had happened even if I told him. I couldn’t tell Elliot either, because I didn’t plan on spending the night with him. I needed space to rage. One night wouldn’t matter, or two. I would tell him when I could.

When I did tell Elliot about his mom, it was a conversation that took place over several days, where I had to establish gently but emphatically, first that Mommy wasn’t coming home, and that she wouldn’t be coming home. That her body didn’t work anymore. That her soul, her feelings and her energy, that’s still with us. That that lives inside us, and it’ll be with us as long as we choose to keep it.

These are things that we discussed for days, in forty-five–second bursts. Three-year-olds don’t make it far into existential conversations.

For the time being, the kids were safe and cared for, which was more than they’d get if they were home with me. I hugged the kids as hard as they would let me, and I drove home to sort myself out.

At last I had the chance to punch the punching bag. I unleashed a fury on that bag, trying to tire myself out but being unable to. I needed to hit this thing forever.

My brothers phoned me to see how I was doing. They and some other friends of mine had arranged to take me out and get me drunk. I was grateful for something to do. It was a Saturday night, and we were going to have a wake.

When my brothers came to pick me up, I asked a favour of them. “Take that hospital bed out of here. I can’t stand to look at it.” After Erica was transported out of the house, I had called about having the bed picked up and, it being Friday, it was too late to arrange anything. They would come and get it Wednesday. Five goddamned days. My brothers packed the bed up and wheeled it onto the porch where I could ignore it.

That night we went out to a pub and drank and laughed and toasted to Erica, and we hugged and sang karaoke and tried to keep the sadness away. Life was short and any one of us could be gone at any time.

I came home alone to our hundred-year-old house. I opened the porch door and was confronted with the imposing form of the hospital bed, folded up and narrowly in my way. It reminded me immediately of what I was coming home to. My mood soured.

We had got her out of that house just in time.

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